


Nothing but the Truth

by Anika_Ann



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Male-Female Friendship, Matchmaker Natasha Romanov, Matchmaker Tony Stark, Mutual Pining, Protective Steve Rogers, Reader-Insert, Sam Wilson Needs a Hug, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, steve rogers is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 17:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22347208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anika_Ann/pseuds/Anika_Ann
Summary: As you were introduced to one Steve Rogers by your friend Sam a while ago, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for the three of you to get lunch together. Hell, not even for you and Steve only.Except that the one time you decided to go out for lunch instead of sticking to the Tower cafeteria, reporters took a photo and accused you and the Captain of dating.What shocked you much more though was that Tony and Natasha wanted you two to just go with it in order to catch a criminal. Oh boy. This would have been much more acceptable if you didn’t have a crush on that man which was the size of the US…
Relationships: Sam Wilson (Marvel) & Reader, Steve Rogers & Reader, Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 76
Kudos: 364
Collections: Finished will re-read





	1. The Photo Evidence

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, Smallville popped up in my mind recently (I blame Tom Welling’s cameo in the mega DC crossover). This fic is inspired by episode 8x05 Committed, if it means anything to anyone :D
> 
> Also, fake dating was on my non-existent to-do writing list.
> 
> Enjoy and leave feedback if you’re willing :-P

“So…” Tony crossed his arms on his chest, raising a challenging eyebrow, making you sink into your seat. He stood next to the hologram, staring you and Steve down with a glare so intense you thought he might have got possessed by a demon or something, because since when was Tony Stark able to look like a disappointed parent? That was Steve’s domain as far as you had been informed! “Either of you have anything to say for yourself?”

You gulped, averting your practically-boss’ gaze and pressed your lips into a thin line as your fingers fumbled with the hem of your blouse.

“So? Just so you know, the press is _loving_ this. They have a freaking field day,” Natasha added, crossing her arms as well and you _truly_ felt like you were five and were being hauled over the coals, your father and now your _mum_ giving you a hard time over a broken vase or something.

You eyed Steve, who shifted in his seat, his eyes fixed on the photograph. He didn’t utter a word and you bit your lower lip, wondering what was on his mind. 

You would love to say that you had no idea how this happened. 

Except you had _every_ idea.

───── ⋆⋅♥⋅⋆ ─────

_Meeting Steve in the lobby just outside the cafeteria, you couldn’t help but smile up at him and he returned the favour, a crinkle of green in his blue eyes._

_There had been a time you had been intimidated by him – it had taken you several encounters to lose the stiffness in your shoulders, the barely audible tremble in your voice (that was when you actually found the courage to speak) – but now, seeing him almost every day, welcoming him with the corners of your lips upright felt like a second nature._

_After all, he was one charming bastard. And what worse, he was a gentlemanly, honest and witty bastard, who was one of Sam’s closest friends, if not the best one; replacing you, which... okay, you could be Sam’s best female friend, you were alright with that._

_You and Sam went a way back; you had been the first person to welcome him at the VA centre and as he was yet another charming bastard, even at that time, you instantly hit it off, mostly because of him; it was near to impossible not to seek his company, he was like… like some sort of a life-charger._

_If you were being honest, there was a time when you thought you might even become more than friends, because who were you kidding, that man was ridiculously attractive, but when you met… he was still healing from losing his wingman and a relationship was the last thing on his mind. And later… you were too deep into your friendship, friend-zoned for eternity and too comfortable with each other, you guessed. You were alright with that and you wouldn’t trade his friendship for the world._

_And then the world turned crazy, Sam had a literal run-in with Captain America, became at first a part-time and then a full-time Avenger and practically dragged you to the Avengers Tower to apply for a job in administrative. You had been hired on spot despite still being employed at the VA. But seeing as it was the only way of keeping Sam and your lunches together and as you weren’t too opposed to a change of scenery…_

_Sam introduced you to Steve way too early and against your will. Well, not that you didn’t want to meet the Captain, alright,_ but _he was the kind of man that was not running in the same social circles – until recently – as you and Sam just brought him to one of your friendly lunch dates in the Tower cafeteria and nearly shook your hands for you. Which was… odd. You were rendered speechless and you didn’t say a word during the whole lunch._

 _However, Sam apparently had a vision in his head, needing his two besties going along perfectly and lunches in three became a regular thing so you would crawl out of your shell. And funnily enough, it worked and you and Steve fell into a rather easy friendship, most of that happening when Sam had been called away and you were forced to have lunch without him. You_ might _have started to enjoy those even more than when he tagged along._

_Which brought you back to today._

_“Hey, Steve. No Sam today?”_

_He shook his head and you swore there might have been a tiny eyeroll to go with that gesture._

_“Tony needed him, because of the Falcon wings._ Urgently,” _he emphasized, making you chuckle at the billionaire’s insistence. It didn’t surprise you, you heard of that infamous feature of his enough times._

 _You most definitely did_ not _run in the same circles as the Avengers, unless they were Steve or Sam; sure, you had met them, because Sam was a mingler who mingled and adored you enough to insist on introducing you – bless his soul – but just because you worked at the Tower, it didn’t mean that you were in everyday contact with the Earth’s mightiest heroes. You were nothing but an office rat, one of way too many at the Tower, one wheel in the huge machine that was needed to run Stark Industries, which founded most of the Avengers’ work._

_You just happened to be Sam’s – and if you dared to say it, Steve’s – friend._

_“Where are you today?”_

_You blinked as he held the glass door opened for you, smiling at him in thanks and snapped back to reality._

_“Huh?”_

_“You keep zoning out on me. Anything… troubling you?” he asked gently as he fell to the line with you, ignoring the menu boards in favour of scanning your face for signs of distress. He was sweet like that._

_You just shook your head, deciding on partly admitting the truth; partly, because you knew he wouldn’t be happy to hear you say anything resembling him being out of your league (of_ any _kind of social interaction) and you wondering how the hell that happened._

_“Eh, just remembering when we started getting lunch here,” you shrugged, eyeing the menu absently. “You know, all three of us?”_

_He hummed in affirmation, following your suit. “You wouldn’t talk to me.”_

_“Can you blame me?”_ A gorgeous man and a hero, biceps size of a bowling ball? With a smile that might as well serve as a powerstation with its brightness? _“I was a bit stark-stuck, cut me some slack.”_

 _“You wouldn’t talk to me until the third lunch.” Your heart stopped. He remembered the number of lunches? Worse, he_ remembered that at all? _You felt your face get hot. Not in a pleasant way. “Sam was trying so hard to get us to talk and laugh, but it wasn’t working until-“_

_“Don’t,” you basically growled over your shoulder, only to see his signature shit-eating grin. Why had you ever thought he was a virtuous man?_

_You placed a soup on your tray and moved over to the salads._

_“-until you attempted to stab a tomato-“_

_On a second thought, you weren’t in the mood for a salad today-_

_“-and it landed in my plate.”_

_“I hate you,” you mumbled, turning around with your tray, only to feel a bump from your side, causing you to sway the tray hazardously._

_You would have been able to balance it and save it, but the soup was fucking_ hot _as it splashed from the bowel to your abdomen and your hand and with a yelp, you let go of the tray in order to pull the burning-hot material of your blouse from your skin, your afflicted hand shaking wildly in attempt to cool itself at least a bit._

_Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, you heard a shattering noise as the tray hit the ground, a ‘shit’ and a ‘sorry’ and you were being cooled down from a bottle of water which Steve charmed out of fucking nowhere, the cool liquid like a balm on your burned skin._

_Yeah, you were soaking and you’d feel like dying of embarrassment because of people probably watching you later, but at the moment, you adored Steve for his quick reactions._

_He was asking for another bottle of water, but you stopped him with a simple raise of your hand, eyes closed as you breathed through the pain; less sharp, but still present._

_Whoever you had collided with was long gone, the staff eyeing you with concern and already rushing to you with cleaning supplies. Steve’s gentle hand led you away from the mess, brows furrowed as his eyes kept flickering from your face to spy in how much pain you were, to your slowly reddening burns._

_“Let’s get you to the bathroom and then get you some dry clothes, okay?” he whispered over the buzz of cafeteria and nodded at the staff as they dismissed you both with a wave of a hand. You felt a different kind of burn in your face as many,_ way too many _people stared at you._

 _You were sure some of them were cackling, you noticed even when you tried your best to keep your gaze glued to the ground; when you looked up and saw their gaze travel up a bit, whatever mean smile they had froze on their lips and they swiftly minded their business again. You only guessed that they had met Captain America’s disappointed glare; you had seen it, never been at the receiving end, luckily, but you didn’t blame them one bit_ and _you were immensely grateful to Steve for not letting you do your walk of shame – in which you were an utterly innocent participant – alone._

 _He waited in front of the ladies’ room until you cooled your burns again, walked you to your office where you stored an extra set of clothes just in case of_ whatever _and offered you an apologetic smile and soft ‘I’m sorry’ on his lips._

_“…what are you sorry for?” you asked him, utterly confused and it distracted you for a minute from the embarrassment that had come knocking at the door of your mind. Christ, how many people saw your little scene? Did anyone snap a picture?_

_“If I haven’t been teasing you about the-“_

_“Oh my god, Steve,” you groaned when you caught up, your hand landing on his bicep on autopilot, a gesture to get him shut up, which was something you were used to from when you wanted to silence Sam whenever he was being stupid._

_You quickly snatched your hand away when you realized that the sensation was slightly different, the bicep under your palm felt just a bit thicker and firmer than usual and you had in fact very much_ groped _Steve._

 _Great, now_ both _of your hands felt like on fire._

 _You gulped, hoping foolishly that he hadn’t noticed your slip._ You _had noticed, okay. You would have very interesting dreams tonight…_

_“Don’t be ridiculous,” you added._

_He frowned, dissatisfied, but then his face lightened up. “Come on. Let’s grab a lunch-“ you froze at the horror image of you coming back to the hellhole of cafeteria only about a half an hour after you giving them the super-awkward show. “-somewhere. I’m paying. What are you in the mood for?”_

_And he asked with such cute inviting smile, his eyes shining, that stupid green spark dancing in blue sea and you didn’t even have the heart to point out that you hadn’t crashed into anyone, but had in fact been crashed into, let alone to tell him no._

_It ended in a lovely lunch date and it… kinda felt like a lunch_ date _, his long fingers gingerly checking on your burned hand at one point which wasn’t hurting at all anymore because he was your hero and… yeah, you might have been crashed into, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore that you had a freaking_ crush _on Steve Rogers_.

───── ⋆⋅♥⋅⋆ ─────

Thinking about it, the photo did make it look like a date as well. So, you didn’t really blame that the tabloids plastered it over the front pages with Steve being who he was and him usually keeping his private life secured as Fort Knox. This was huge and would have been even _huger_ if it wasn’t one big misunderstanding caused by a ridiculous game of chance.

“It was, eh, a coincidence, honestly. One thing led to another, we had a little incident in the cafeteria-“ Steve finally started to explain and you felt just the tinniest bit of the burden that had seated itself on your chest when you had been called into the small conference room disappear.

You had utterly and truly freaked out at the idea of explaining to Tony Stark and his PR why did every tabloid and some newspaper too now – only a day after, _less_ than 24 hours in fact – thought that you were Steve’s girlfriend. One of the reasons being that you were _not_ running in the same circles as the Iron Man, not really knowing him, another one that at some point you would have to admit how stupid it all was, because hello? You were no one special. How had they even drawn a conclusion like that?

Eyeing the photo, you were reminded exactly how.

Steve could apparently be very tender when he wanted to, which was by some miracle visible in the photo and in return, you _might_ have been looking at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world. In addition, he had a teeny-tiny soft smile on his lips and the way his brows knitted in concern was not helping the whole situation.

Speaking of Steve’s tender fingers, they were connected to a large hand, to an impressive forearm and a massive bicep you had possibly dreamt about last night-

“Well, normally I’d say don’t tell me, tell the PR,” Tony smirked shortly and sighed. _“But…”_

Uh-oh. You did not like the ‘but’. What did the ‘but’ mean?

“…but this in fact might be a blessing,” Natasha finished, resigning to her posture of a disappointed mum and relaxing.

Huh?

You were confused to no end by their cryptic talk. Shooting Steve a look, you were slightly relieved to see that he seemed to share the sentiment.

He was also apparently at loss of words.

So were you, but you managed to stutter out two: “…what? How?”

Tony grimaced and with a motion of his hand, ten different faces, five different men and five women, each in an individual frame, paired up as the line of men was on top (rude) and the women below them, appeared in the hologram, replacing the infamous photo evidence of your supposed relationship with Steve.

You still didn’t understand. And what Tony Stark said next didn’t help either.

“Because we need your help.”


	2. The Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is being Tony, you are still confused until you aren’t and Sam… well, Sam finds out that his friends are idiots – bigger than he thought, that is.

‘Because we need your help.’

You repeated the words in your head; once, twice… your gaze flickered between the photos and the pair of Avengers, landing on Steve then. You repeated the whole process.

Stark’s expression screamed impatience, Romanoff’s challenge and Steve’s was completely unreadable except for his eyes which gave away how the wheels in his head were turning as much as the ones in yours.

You looked at the hologram again.

“…I don’t follow,” you said finally, earning an annoyed eyeroll from the billionaire.

“Cute,” he commented and you wondered whether he meant ‘stupid’, ‘innocent’ or… well, ‘ _cute’._

“Let me explain,” Natasha interrupted your musing. “There’s a streak of missing couples for the past month – ten people so far. It’s too much. And the last couple was too high-profile for Ross not to shove it our way.”

Your heart clenched, face twisting in sorrow. Ten people missing. They were pairs indeed as you had thought. Most of them were rather young, but there was also a couple of seniors, sticking out. What could have happened? Were Tony and Natasha trying to tell you that someone… hurt them?

That was surely regrettable, but what did it have to do with you and the tabloids blowing up one lunch date to proportion?

“So,” you hesitated, once more searching support with Steve; his expression was slightly irritated now and you felt your gut twist as if in dark promotion. “You want me… – or us – to do… what exactly?”

“Well you and Captain Virtue over here could actually keep pretending to be a couple-“ _You could do WHAT._ “-and if we luck out, you’ll lead us right to-“

The sudden bang that rattled the table you were sitting at startled you enough to make you jump.

“Absolutely not!” Steve’s voice protested loudly and you instantly knew that the conclusion you came to was right.

They wanted… they wanted you-

“You want us to be the bait,” you voiced your thoughts, sounding as much in disbelief as you were.

There might have been a hint of hurt at the instant dismissal of the idea from Steve’s side. It shouldn’t have hurt you that he hated the idea of dating you – fake or not –, you were painfully aware of how much out of your league he was after all, but it _did_.

Of course, you were setting aside the fact that they were suggesting for you to play bait for a potential serial kidnapper – or worse, a serial killer. But hey, you would have been in Captain America’s company, what safer place on Earth there was?

“Kinda yeah,” Tony confirmed, one corner of his lips quirking as he noticed that you were… ugh, considering it.

Except there were two major hiccups; one, Steve was apparently very much against it, which, again, _ouch,_ and second… well.

“I’m sorry, but _who_ would be dumb enough to try to kidnap Captain America?” you questioned silently, earning two raised eyebrows and one frown from the man in question. He seemed… angry with you? You sunk further into your seat.

“That’s your issue with this? Not the fake dating? Watch out, Cap, you might have an admirer…”

Your face felt hot for the hundredth time in the past 24 hours.

“Shut up, Tony,” Steve hissed, shifting his gaze to him again. “Just let her be. This is out of question. I can’t believe you’re even considering it-”

You felt a pang in your gut, unsure whether he was referring to you or his superhero friends. He sounded… harsh. Steve was never harsh with you. It _sucked._

Natasha sighed tiredly. “The thing is, Steve, that the cat is already out of the bag. We might as well use it.”

“No! No way! It’s too dangerous! And she has a point!” he gestured to you, his voice rising in volume again. “We should use some low-key agents – well-trained but not recognizable-“

“That’s the thing,” Tony interrupted his outrage, pointing a finger-gun at him. “We need the attention of this guy, whoever he might be. Or they. You absolutely _will_ get the attention. Some random couple? Eeee, not so much. We need to make sure he picks the ones we send-”

Steve’s hand balled in a fist and he raised it, lowering his head to it, his knuckles brushing his mouth as if he needed to stop himself from spilling whatever streak of curses which gathered on the tip of his tongue. He took a deep breath, while your mind still raced.

If he would have agreed… would you be willing to do it?

An excited hormones-fuelled voice that imagined what could it be like, basking in his intimate proximity, touching casually for show, hell, maybe even kissing, yelled an enthusiastic yes.

Another, a voice of reason, the one that guarded your heart, pointed out that it would be all pretend, you would only fell for him harder and got your heart broken in the process as you would have only had a week or something of a somewhat relationship with Steve and then had it taken away.

Then the third voice screamed at you to get your shit together, because this meant offering yourself to be a bait for a serial _whatever_ , a very much bad guy, and you should get your sense of self-preservation checked.

 _But the missing couples-!_ Protested yet another voice and you shook your head lightly in attempt to shush them all and focus on the discussion that was still unfolding in front of you. The choice wasn’t yours anyway – at least not _only_ yours.

“Yes, I get that, Tony. So… so it will just take some more time to lure him in, but at least we won’t endanger a _civilian.”_

The way Steve said the last word gave you a pause, angry and yet warmly; and his distaste made so much more sense now, his protective side kicking into overdrive and the realization eased your mind a bit. He might not want to date you _(fake-date_ you, whatever), but it wasn’t the only reason.

He wanted to keep you safe.

Which was… very sweet and thoughtful of him and there might have been a part of you that lighted up at his care; purely friendly or not, you apparently mattered.

_See, you should go through with this. It could be so, soooo nice…_

_Shut your cakehole!_

“Ten people are already missing, Rogers,” Tony reminded him and your gaze involuntarily shifted towards the photos again, guilt stabbing your stomach. “Potentially dead.”

“And she’s NOT going to be the eleventh!” Steve exploded, hitting the table again with his fist, glaring at his friend, _fuming with irritation._

You gulped, startled by the display of strength, yet you didn’t tear your eyes away from the hologram to check Steve’s expression.

Ten people. Potentially dead. _Christ_.

Innocent people. _Civilians,_ just like you.

Their faces were staring at you accusingly. What choice was to make here?

Fuck self-preservation; you would have Steve by your side. The danger of getting hurt was minimal. Admittedly, your heart was in a considerably higher risk, but that was for you to deal with later.

You cleared your throat, fighting against the lump that had grown in it. Your voice was quiet in comparison to Steve’s angry exclaims, but it brought everyone’s attention to you nonetheless.

“No, I won’t…”

Steve shot you a grateful look, apparently convinced you finally gathered some sense and were taking his side. Natasha’s slow smile seemed to confuse him; and you knew that she, unlike Steve, caught on.

“…because you’ll protect me,” you explained slowly, skilfully avoiding Steve’s gaze, grateful when Tony clapped his hands twice, content, and gave you an excuse to look at him instead.

“Great! It’s a date!”

“Doll…” a low warning came from your left and you swallowed again, mouth dry as he spoke the rarely used pet name.

Shifting your gaze so it focused on the table between you, you bargained, ignoring the flutter in your stomach. “Unless you’re disgusted with a little pretending. We don’t exactly have to make out-“

A hand, a very nice _large hand with_ _tender_ _long_ _fingers_ appeared in your field of vision, making you look up, your teeth worrying over your lower lip. Hesitantly, you extended your own hand, placing it in his. He squeezed gently; you barely noticed, too lost in his eyes, his emotions served on a cerulean platter. Disapproval. Concern. Hesitance.

_He was considering it._

“That’s not it, doll. This… this could get ugly pretty quickly and— you didn’t sign up for this. I- I’d hate for you to get hurt,” he whispered sincerely, a vulnerability you weren’t used to seeing softening his expression.

Your heart might have almost given out at his admission.

“I trust you, Steve,” you declared with the same honesty, making sure to keep your gazes locked. “I trust you with my life.”

You could almost hear the wheels turning in his head again, considering every angle, battling the responsibility he felt towards the missing couples and his unwillingness to go through with this.

You heard your pulse pounding in your ears, speeding up with each second of staring into his eyes, assessing your expression, searching. God, how a person could have eyes so deep? Were you even breathing or did you forget how to do that with him looking at you as if the rest of the world didn’t exist, his warm palm engulfing yours?

The sound of slow claps snapped you from your reverie and you backed into your seat as if you got burned _(again),_ following the sound with your eyes; Tony was clapping his hands, earning a death glare from Natasha and Steve, while you only stared at him, confused.

“What? I thought they were practicing!” he said to his defence, shrugging.

 _“Tupitsa,”_ Natasha muttered under her breath and you had a distant feeling that it was an insult in her mother tongue. Not that you cared, you were still too taken aback by the fact this was actually happening. And you were most definitely not recovered from your surreal moment with Steve. “Anyway. There’s one more little thing.”

“…what?” Steve sighed, seemingly bone-tired.

“All of the couples? They were freshly engaged,” Natasha explained with an innocent grin.

Well. _Fuck_.

“So, hon,” Tony hummed, pulling out a jewellery box from his pocket, apparently having been counting on you agreeing to their plan.

He made a show of opening the box ceremonially and revealing a ring which very obviously came from a vending machine. He placed it on the table between you and Steve, much closer to you.

“Will you make me the happiest man on Earth and become Steve’s wife?”

───── ⋆⋅♥⋅⋆ ─────

Sam Wilson was a man on a mission.

And the mission was to punch Captain America so hard that the man would see all the stars he was supposedly spangled with.

The nerve on him! How dared he to-

Oh, Sam was so pissed off.

No, he was _beyond_ pissed off. He saw red. He was out for blood. He was fucking _furious._

He didn’t bother knocking and threw the door open with such force that it hit the wall; he was sure that the only reason it was able to do that was not the lack of technical advance, but Tony’s need for dramatics for when he needed to do exactly what Sam did.

For once, Sam was truly, _truly_ grateful.

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking?!”

He found his so-called friend who was about to get punched sitting at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he was ready to take a nap for another seventy years.

“Sam-“ he muttered and the image of him, his tone… it gave Sam a pause. Enough for him to have the decency to shut the door and take a breath before turning back to the supersoldier, who was now watching him with a set of puppy eyes.

Sam huffed in exasperation. Avenging did not pay good enough for him to deal with this shit. _Especially_ not with this kind of bullshit. He strode to the desk, but kept his fists at his side.

For now.

“You do _not_ get to ‘Sam’ me! Not when you agreed to put my friend’s life on the line! A very _civilian,_ very much _defenceless_ friend!!” he spitted out, unable to keep his voice even.

And why should he? That was his _friend_ he was talking about! And Captain Flawless Moral Compass just put her in danger! And for what?! Because he wasn’t couldn’t keep it in his pa-

“I tried to talk them out of it,” Steve defended himself evenly. “Trust me, Sam, I don’t like it either-“

That _fucking_ _nerve_ on him!

“Oh, don’t you?” Sam asked sarcastically, tone biting. “You really wanna pretend that faking a relationship with her, having an excuse to be aaaaawfully close, casual touching, kissing, _god knows what_ , isn’t _ridiculously_ convenient for you?!”

Steve straightened in his chair at that implication.

“Hey! I would never do anything against her will!”

“You BETTER!” Sam exploded, accenting his words with his fist hitting the desk hard enough to hurt himself. Panting, he drilled a hole in Steve’s head with the intensity of his glare, staring into the guilt-laced eyes, until Steve apparently couldn’t bear it, lowering his gaze. Sam sighed, dropping his head and leaned onto his palms on the table. “You better, Rogers.”

Silence wrapped around the men, neither of the saying a word, both of them too caught in their own heads.

“And I will do _everything_ to protect her,” Steve whispered, causing Sam to grind his teeth, a coil twisting his stomach.

Of fucking course. Scout boy Steve, a protective Prince Charming. Naturally, he would promise Sam that. The responsibility Sam was convinced Steve would feel for her was the only thing that saved the supersoldier from a punch in his face.

“Good. Because if you don’t, I’ll raise a fucking hell. That’s basically my little sister we’re talking about.”

Which wasn’t quite the truth. They didn’t even know each other that long but they might as well do.

He had taken over the role of the big brother soon after they had become friends and she had come to work with red-rimmed eyes, admitting why, after a bit of subtle pressure from his side. She had been smart enough to cut off a relationship with a control-freak asshole early, _but_ Sam was sure that moment that her gentle soul needed to be protected. And he had happily stepped in, vetting every guy who even remotely showed interest in her ever since.

It was probably pointless to say that so far, he approved of no one. Even though… well.

“I’d never forgive myself if she got hurt on my watch,” Steve pointed out, voice still rather quiet in contrast to Sam’s. “I care about her, Sam. You know that. I know you do.”

“Yeah, that’s part of the problem,” Sam scoffed, crossing his arms on his chest in defiance. “Please, all least drop the crappy act of Stark and Romanoff having to twist your arm to do this.”

The blond leaned into the backrest heavily, eyeing his friend with resemblance of guilt. At least he had enough decency to do so.

“Sam, I-“

“You keep her safe,” Sam ordered, raising his index finger to emphasize his point. “And you do _not_ break her heart, you hear me? Because otherwise? You’re a dead man, serum-boosted or not.”

Steve gulped, his Adam’s apple jumping. Sam felt a wave of satisfaction at completed mission wash over him. He wasn’t naïve; he wasn’t fooling himself thinking Steve was afraid of getting punched. No, he was afraid that he just _might_ hurt her himself; and knowing that, Sam trusted him a bit more.

After all, until today’s horrible decision, Steve Rogers had been so far the only candidate Sam respected enough to consider giving a green light for pursuing his little sister.

“Noted.”

Sam left the room with a sharp nod of approval, peripherally noticing Steve running a hand down his face.

This time, Sam was careful with the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for leaving kudos or any kind of feedback really and for reading in the first place :))


	3. The Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to seal the deal officially; you become Steve’s fiancé, officially. Kinda. You really have to talk about the rules of engagement; read PDA.

Tony was kind enough to point out that the ring worth two dollars wouldn’t do.

_No fucking kidding._

So, he also took the liberty of scheduling an appointment at some fancy jeweller’s shop; your gut clenched at the idea of buying an engagement ring.

With Steve.

For your fake relationship.

 _What the hell is even my life,_ you questioned as you walked beside Steve, your fingers interlaced with his.

Oh, yeah, that was another wonderful (read: super-awkward) thing to experience: the talk about physical contact and boundaries. Part of you had screamed at you to tell him that you were his to do whatever he pleased (unless you would very clearly and loudly asked him to stop), while the other part of you hoped he would keep the touching tuned down to minimum, because then there might be a chance for you to come back to friends-mode after he wouldn’t be forced to pretend affection anymore.

No, you did not believe that he would magically fall in love with you during your little show for the public and the kidnapper(s). Your life wasn’t a romantic comedy.

Though that was debatable, seeing as you were momentarily going to buy a fucking engagement ring together.

You casted a side-glance at him, marvelling at the soft absent smile on his lips and for the millionth time since you had met him, you wondered what was on his mind. He seemed rather content now, but you didn’t trust yourself to be able to tell anymore; here he was, appearing at ease and with a spring in his step despite the fact that during ‘the talk’, his body language had hinted you that he had been about as nervous and uncomfortable about discussing boundaries as you had been, at least at first.

_Staying behind as Tony Stark wanted you to sign some forms – including ones in which you promised not to share the information concerning this case with a third party or the ones in which you agreed to wear a tracker on you 24/7 for your own safety –, you went to find Steve in his office to talk more about what you two just got yourself into, to discuss your ‘battle plan’._

_You nearly collided with Sam who stormed from the very door you were heading to._

_Freezing in spot, you watched him stride towards you, his eyes narrowed and menacing. He pointed an accusing finger at you, taking a steading breath; you only guessed he was trying to keep himself from shouting at you, as he no doubt had at Steve._

_A wave of sympathy for the Captain washed over you. Judging by the expression on Sam’s face, it had not been a pleasant talk and it had_ not _concerned the photo, but your plans for the future – which, what the hell, since when news travelled_ that _fast?!_

_“You and I are going to talk about this,” he threatened, jaw set tight, looking you dead in the eye. “Call me when you finish… whatever you’re about to do with that-- jerk.”_

_You nodded curtly, swallowing on nothing, and continued your path._

_Your knock on the door was hesitant, possibly too quiet for anyone but a supersoldier to hear._

_His permission for you to enter was nearly as quiet and sounded rather exhausted._

_You opened the door slowly, peeking in the office and finding him at the desk, forearms resting on the table, fingers interlaced._

_He smiled up at you despite his weariness. “Hey you.”_

_You couldn’t but reciprocate that. “Hey yourself.”_

_Steve’s waved off your worry about the mood in which Sam was leaving this room as well as your concern for Steve’s wellbeing. He offered you to back out once more from the crazy plan, assuring you that it was alright to do so – at any given time. You found it kind, but not too welcomed. You needed him fully in for this, if you were about to go on with it._

_So you tried to be firm about it, hopefully enough for him to understand, to read between the lines. He must have, because gradually, the talk moved to the topic of displays of affection._

_“I… uh, I think that maybe it would be better for you to initiate contact, always?” he suggested reluctantly, as if not being certain himself. “Just to make sure I won’t make you too uncomfortable? And I don’t doubt that you have a better idea of what the liberties are when it comes to a relationship nowadays, so… eh-“_

_You hummed, thoughtful. “Well, I appreciate your trust in me – both in my know-how with relationships, which, eh, you might be surprised, and in me setting the boundaries just so skilfully that I won’t make_ you _uncomfortable. But, I think that if it’s always me… wouldn’t that make me look… uhm, this is so awk- like, you know, like some nag or something? Like a crazy fan pawing you?”_

_“Would you be pawing me?” he blurted out, his slowly rising suggestive eyebrow giving away that his words were not as spontaneous as he wished for you to believe, a spark of mischief in his eye._

_Really?!_

_Also, your core did_ not _burn at him talking about you getting handsy, no sire, you would never-_

_“Are you really joking about this?” you chuckled despite yourself, the playfulness reaching you despite all odds. You were worried about this whole matter, but seeing him still being himself put you at ease, as much as it was possible at the moment._

_“Sorry,” he hummed with a sheepish smile before turning serious again. “I… you might have a point. It’s just… I really don’t want to-- to hurt you or anything, I would hate if- if you didn’t feel… safe with me in that respect.”_

_Your heart fluttered as you were reminded that yes, Steve could be joking, but only to lighten the atmosphere, to do exactly what you felt happening – to put you at ease. Making sure you were comfortable._

_This was all about him being sweet and considerate in a way you hadn’t seen in a man before and… it was doing things to you on visceral level, feeding the attraction to him that had nothing to do with a burning desire, but more with you wanting to cocoon him in a pile of blankets, or better yet, to build a blanket fort to hide him from the evils of this world – of which he had seen too many, you weren’t naïve – and just… snuggle him. The sentiment was dangerous, more so in the combination with the said desire to climb him, but you couldn’t help it._

_A relaxed smile spread on your lips and you noticed that Steve’s stiffened posture – caused most likely by both Sam’s visit and the topic – eased as well._

_“Is this the forties’ man speaking? Because that was another point I was about to make; Steve, everyone knows that you weren’t born in this day and age. What would be wrong with your—eh, fiancée, respecting that? I… now I’m just saying things from the top of my head, but surely when you had other-when you were with-- when--- ugh, we would find a compromise, right? A way to respect each other’s sensibilities? If we were together for real?”_

_Despite your rambling, a smile mirroring your own appeared on his lips, brightening his face (and your day)._

_He extended his hand in your direction in what seemed like an invitation, so you hesitantly took few steps towards him – only now realizing you had never sat down, too nervous for that –, fighting the urge to chew on your lower lip. The corners of his lips rose higher when you complied, his eyes mesmerizing when you inserted your hand in his._

_It was strange as he was still sitting, but you knew all too well that it was just another way for him to show you that_ you _were in charge of this, you had the ball on your court. You lead and he would follow._

_It was driving you crazy – both in the best way and in the worse way possible, because you weren’t certain you could work with that amount of trust and responsibility._

_“This is alright?” he asked, only half-joking, effectively snapping you back to reality in which your hand was in his._

_You nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yeah, I think I can handle… hand-holding.”_

_“Good. We… we touched before. We hugged,” he reminded hesitantly and you realized that even your freak-out about ‘groping’ Steve yesterday had been ridiculous._

_He had a point; yes, you were less touchy-feely with him than with Sam, but you… you had hugged before. He had put an arm around you; once again, not too often, but it happened. He would offer you an arm when there was a slippery floor. He caught when there was_ nothing _on the floor and yet you managed to stumble over it._

_You were being ridiculous about this, blowing it to proportion. Your shoulders slumped in relief with that realization and you grinned at Steve, causing him to raise a curious eyebrow as you motioned for him to stand up._

_You were sure that he saw it coming miles away, but he still had the decency to huff when you slammed into his chest in a brutal hug and he chuckled at your sudden change of demeanour. His palm even caressed your back as his frame shook ever so slightly._

_“I take it hand on your lower back is acceptable too then?” he whispered, hot air brushing your hairline._

_You hummed in agreement and to your pleasant surprise, you felt his chin lightly rest on the top of your head. You melted into his body, allowing yourself to_ enjoy _the_ _proximity, screw the consequences. You could feel his steady if perhaps a bit faster than usual heartbeat on your cheek as you leaned it on his pectoral._

_Sideway note: Yeah, he was amazingly ripped and it felt incredible to be held against that, something you hadn’t quite indulged in when you had been hugged by him before._

_As you were still enveloped in his arms, he suggested few more rather chaste and sweet displays of affection; kiss in your hair, on your cheek, on your forehead or your hand, cupping your cheek if felt right, a peck on the lips if it came to extreme – and only if you clearly enough permitted it at the given moment._

_You didn’t have it in you to say no to any of that, mostly because it was definitely acceptable. Instead, you breathed him in, santal wood, musk, detergent and him, you tried to engrave the moment into your brain for eternity, the feeling of being cradled in his embrace, how the material of his shirt caressed your skin and how warm and safe you felt._

_Once you settled everything, your slightly wobbly legs carried you to the taxi that would take you to your apartment, the fact that you didn’t live with your fiancé being an issue left for another day. You found yourself basking in the aftermath and missing Steve’s warmth at the same time._

_That night, sleep didn’t come easily and when the alarm blasted from your phone the next morning, waking you up for the appointment with the jeweller, you considered whether it was not all a dream._

_But seeing as Steve picked you up…_

He glanced down at you, noticing your gawking, and squeezed your hand, pulling you just an inch closer to his side.

“Are you alright?”

“Nervous as hell,” you admitted willingly and Steve grimaced.

“I can relate. I am a terrible liar, but we’ll make it work,” he assured you, not quite looking convinced himself.

You chuckled. “What a coincidence. I am a terrible liar too _. Why are we doing this again?”_ you muttered the last sentence under your breath, momentarily forgetting that Steve had enhanced hearing.

“Because Tony and Natasha are stubborn and they do whatever they want,” he sassed you, smirking. Then, his expression softened. “If it doesn’t work out, we’ll figure something else to catch our guy. Don’t worry about it. But… I trust you. That’s why I am doing this.”

An enormous lump growing in your throat, you got yourself lost in the sincerity of his eyes and words, your breath stolen from your lungs by an invisible force.

“I trust you too,” you replied without thinking and felt with every fibre of your being that it was the truth.

Perhaps it was silly, since you technically didn’t know him _that well._

However, it was the truth.

───── ⋆⋅♥⋅⋆ ─────

The hunt for a perfect ring in the luxurious shop was both the best dream coming true and the worst nightmare coming to life.

You were treated like a princess, showered with attention, being offered jewellery which made your head spin, leaving you wide-eyed; at the same time, the overenthusiastic vendor was giving you creeps.

Harold was your typical sleazy businessman- no, that wasn’t right. He was somehow… _worse._ It wasn’t just that he was clearly trying to sell you the most expensive ring and to make good (crazy) money; his intrusive questions, importunate persona and joyful spark in his eyes whenever you and Steve exchanged the smallest gaze was bordering on one of madman’s.

It could be simply because he was obsessed with his job. However, you suspected he was trying to convince you that he was such a loyal fan to your love that he would deserve to be on the wedding guestlist. For the shortest moment, you wondered whether it was something people who could afford a ring from this place did.

In the end, it didn’t matter, because there would be no wedding.

You tried very hard not to think about that, because being here with Steve, all soft smiles and his seemingly genuine pick-whatever-you-want-I-just-want-to-make-you-happy attitude, it was all causing things happening in your body you weren’t sure you liked. With each moment in his presence, you felt yourself fall deeper into the trap of his charm, voluntarily walking down the path of falling in love with him – if you weren’t already before this whole ordeal.

After the purchase of an elegant diamond ring with the sizeable gem in its middle and several petite spread on each side of thin twisted metal, you left the shop with a polite smile on your face which fell as soon as the door closed behind you.

“Is it just me or was the guy giving away a really creepy vibe?”

“Not just you. I think creepy fits the description the best,” Steve confirmed while you bit on your lower lip, eyeing the jewellery on your ring finger. You couldn’t help but admire it – it was breath-taking. “He was way too enthusiastic for my taste.”

“Yeah… I- thank you for sitting through that with me. And for—this. It’s really beautiful.”

He slipped his hand into yours, fingers interlacing at instant, squeezing gently. “You’re welcome. Some exquisite taste you have here.”

You chuckled. “Thanks.”

You spent your walk in silence then, until Steve received a text from Tony, which you assumed as soon as a frown appeared on his face and he sighed.

“He set up an interview for tomorrow’s afternoon. He wants us to come see him first thing when we arrive to the Tower.”

Your heart leaped to your stomach at the news. “He did _what?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still fluffy as hell... but you might want to stock some of that for later... maybe ;) Thanks for sticking around and letting me know what you thought so far :-*


	4. The Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interview on TV happens and it goes about as well as expected. Oh, and you, Tony and Natasha get into involuntary contest of who is the most screwed one; no, not like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fluff gets real, y'all.

Your life took quite a turn after such an insignificant event as knocking over your lunch on you.

Here you were, an engagement ring sitting on your finger, twisting as you fiddled with it nervously, seated next to Steve on a too comfortable sofa in a TV studio.

Everything was hazy, like a dream. You blamed the sharp lights of which you hoped were about to get dimmed at least a fraction, because otherwise you’d be blind before the interview was over.

As if the gaffer could read your thoughts, he dimmed the reflectors a bit, allowing you to see the interviewer’s face. Yay for you.

You were not in any sense ready for the questions, let alone coming from a TV host. You had been skilfully dodging your family’s inquires by telling them you’d explain later, you ignored your friend/colleague who was blowing your phone with texts and phone calls and you avoided everyone at work, mostly because for the past two days, you weren’t there to begin with; not in your office anyway.

Steve might be sitting by your side, his hand around your waist reassuring, but it did little to soothe your nerves. You truly were an awful liar and people from TV industry, reporters and such, there were like sharks; you did not feel like facing the sharks, _thank_ _you very much,_ they could smell lies as if they were blood.

Tony Stark had sworn that the host was an acquittance of his, _good people,_ he had promised, and in collective effort, you had put together a list of acceptable questions for her to ask and a list of answers for you. Also, you had received one simple advice: stick to the truth as much as possible, because it is easier to keep track of. Also, Tony Stark had smirked when you confessed to being a terrible liar and had told you that you and Cap were apparently a match made in heaven _and_ that it was just another good reason for you to try and lie only as little as possible.

Surprisingly, once the interview started, you felt yourself relax only enough to not to stutter too much when speaking, so it only appeared you were shy and nervous and not _losing_ _your_ _mind_. It had little to do with the friendly host who somehow managed to make the interview flow naturally despite using rehearsed questions and everything to do with Steve’s comforting presence, his thumb drawing calming circles on your hip.

You successfully got through the questions about how you met – via Sam, of course, _stick to the truth as much as possible –,_ how you started dating, adding only tiny bits of information about you too, easily explaining that you wanted to keep your family and some of the privacy out of the spotlight.

It all naturally led to another burning question.

“So, it might be obvious, but I gotta ask… why all the secrecy?” she queried, still smiling invitingly and Steve shrugged in response as he clearly _did_ find the answer evident.

“I like to keep my private life separated. This…” he looked at you with one corner of his lips raised and continued, “she doesn’t deserve thousands of people trying to stick their nose into her life – into our life. I just… I guess I wanted… uh, I wanted to spare us that for as long as possible.”

You confirmed his words with few delicate nods.

“Well, people know now. How do you feel about that?” the host turned to you.

“Mixed feelings, I think? I don’t enjoy being the centre of attention much. On the other hand, it’s a relief not having to hide.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Steve agreed. “I mean, we didn’t plan it, I honestly wasn’t thinking about anything than cheering up my best girl after a bad morning that day, but this might be a truly good thing. Maybe now, her other suitors will finally lay off.”

Your heart skipped a beat and judging by the subtle squeeze of your hip, Steve noticed and was trying to tell you to stay calm – despite the fact that this was _not_ planned at all.

What the hell was he doing?

“Other suitors?” the host questioned, intrigued, as she eyed your reaction; which was absolutely genuine, a 100% undiluted shock.

If you were lucky, the audience would think it was you being self-conscious, surprised at the idea of other people being interested, which… wasn’t that far from the truth, but seriously, _Steve, what the hell?_

Utterly confused, you attempted to cover your shock with only thing you could think of; with humour.

“Yeah. There are so many! I can see the line forming right there,” you joked lightly, making the effort to point somewhere behind the cameras and the host chuckled when she caught on the playfulness in your voice, knowing all too well what you were doing.

“You’d be surprised,” Steve stated lowly, making you pause and blink in confusion. He was just messing around, right? There were _no_ other guys interested in you. Yes, you had been complimented before, _yes_ , you had been in relationships before, but it wasn’t like guys fought over you or something.

Once more hiding your inner turmoil, you turned your head to him, eyes narrowed.

“Steve!” you scolded him, mocking offence. “Are you telling me you knew there were others and you didn’t introduce us?!”

The interviewer’s eyes flickered between the two of you, an expectant smirk forming on her lips. _Well, glad you’re having fun, because I still have no idea what this is all about, apart from Steve proving a point which I’m not quite getting yet._ Though you had to admit, it probably looked natural, a banter between friends turned to lovers and you suddenly realized that this was Steve making this whole _one single interview_ you were willing to give, which was suspicious enough, much more believable.

And damn, was he smooth about it.

Steve’s smile was innocent, a glint of mischief in his irises as he shrugged. “What can I say? I just want you for myself.”

Feeling heat rising to your cheeks at the confidence he spoke with and at his palm squeezing your hip once more, shifting you subtly and yet visibly closer to his side, you smiled at him and leaned your forehead onto his shoulder. His lips landed in your hair so easily as if he had done it thousand times before.

“I guess you are forgiven then.”

“Well, it looks like you two have it figured out,” the interviewer, _Laurel_ , because you were all on the first name basis to cut the tension, remarked. “And I suppose the strategy would work, Steve, the ring isn’t extravagant, but it _is_ hard to miss.” She beckoned to it and looked at you expectantly. “What was it like? The proposal?”

Well, shit. You really wished Steve would get this one to answer, because you would have to lie through your teeth, but it was expected that you’d be the one to be asked about it since being proposed was a big moment in woman’s life. Or man’s, sure, but in your position… _stop trying to distract yourself, big lie ahead! Focus!_

“It was… a blur. I mean, we aren’t together for too long despite knowing each other for over a year now. But… I guess when you know, you know, right? It was just so sudden! This ring is beautiful, but we actually picked it _after_ the question.”

You were meant to say exactly that – just in case someone who was too close to you noticed the absence of the ring before – and overall, you weren’t _lying_ in the true sense of the word, only omitting the truth… it was just so damn complicated!

“Oh?”

“Eh, that one _is_ on me,” Steve saved you and you truly tried your best not to show your relief when he took over. “I wasn’t prepared. She deserves the best, but… eh, I suppose that with all the secrecy I was bottling up emotions for too long and I couldn’t contain it anymore, I… I asked without finding the perfect ring.”

You weren’t sure _how_ he accomplished that, but a blush actually crept its way up his neck as if he was embarrassed at his own impulsiveness. You found it unbearably cute and clearly, you weren’t the only one.

“Aww, that is so precious! Can’t imagine any woman to be oppose to that. Right? Truly romantic, succumbing to the spirit of the moment, the rush of emotions!” the host gushed and you grinned at the nice pass she offered.

“Don’t I know it. It was… unusual. But our relationship isn’t exactly typical.” _No shit._ “So it suits us, I think. And yeah… I…uhm… I couldn’t believe it was happening.”

_Once again, 100% undiluted truth._

“I have no doubt. The important thing is the two of you being happy. And I think all of our viewers can tell you two look _very_ happy together.”

Did you?

“Well, she is a wonderful woman and she said yes. How could I be not delighted?” Steve beamed, effectively causing your heart to flutter foolishly.

A part of you – a very sizeable part of you – was enjoying this little pretending immensely, alright, trying to push all the possible outcomes for the two of you after breaking the fake relationship aside and succeeding, but at times, you couldn’t but feel overwhelmed anyway.

Like when Steve said _that_ and it warmed you from inside out, your brain screaming at you that had this been real, you would have melted into a puddle of lovesick jello.

_‘She is a wonderful woman and she said yes. How could I not be delighted?’_

Why did he have to sound so unbelievably genuine? He had told you he was a terrible liar. Liar!

You forced a shaky but hopefully sweet smile and stretched your neck to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. _In for a penny…_

“That is so sweet!” the host commented instantly, basically cooing. “And chaste!”

SHIT, you totally walked into that one! But Steve kissed your head before and had got away with it without a single remark! How was this fair?

You tried to swallow your panic, instantly explaining, while your heart raced, _slightly panicking_.

“Uh, we’re not much for showing affection publicly and with the secrecy-“ you babbled, while Steve started his own reasoning: “The time I grew up in-“

“Ah, that’s understandable,” the woman agreed and the sound of the heavy rock which had seated itself in your stomach hitting the floor must have been caught by the audio tech, you were sure. That was how loud it must have been. _Crisis averted._ “But… come on. Don’t play all coy on us…”

_Spoke too soon._

You gulped, eyeing Steve, who was no doubt better at hiding his panic than you were. You could tell by the intensity of his gaze though that his nerves were as wrecked at the moment as yours.

What else could you do though but comply, being on a TV and being asked to kiss? How obvious would it be if you refused?

_…in for a pound._

He searched your face, observing every tiny motion of your mimic muscles, every twitch. You lowered your gaze to his lips – and damn, didn’t you, in your heart where you pretended this whole situation on hand was not going to end up in a terrible heartbreak on your part, want to kiss those full lips, so tempting – and raised you gaze back to lock it with his. You hoped you looked determined enough, but you confirmed it in soft-spoken words, simultaneously checking if _he_ was alright with this.

“It’s okay, Steve. We can handle a bit of PDA this once, can’t we? I mean… we’ve made it official, after all.”

A barely visible smile appeared on his lips, an inconspicuous nod sealing the deal.

Two of his fingers slipped under your chin, angling your face just a bit, brining you closer to the paradise. That was what it was; your eyes fluttered shut and the moment his lips brushed yours to test the waters, you knew you tasted heaven.

You felt the shudder running through your body, but you couldn’t help it, unable to conceal the excitement mixed with nerves. Your palm found haven on his toned chest, an anchor to the ship raging on the sea of emotion that pulled you in, just as his lips explored yours more thoroughly, as if searching a haven of their own, finding it exactly where yours were. They sank in, thirsty for home, caressing and oh, _oh_ so soft and warm, _safe_ and wonderful.

He was the one to withdraw for some oxygen, reminding you that breathing, in fact, was a thing. Quite an essential thing. On instinct, you breathed in swiftly, but couldn’t help but kiss him again, only a tender brush of lips on lips, relishing in the sensation for only a fraction of second longer.

You forced your eyes open and your hand to slide to his waist, trying so hard to remember that you were, in fact, not alone. _At all._

“Well… wow,” the interviewer breathed out, her chuckle carrying a pinch of surprise in it. “That’s what I call pure love. Thank you so much for coming here, _Captain_ and future Mrs. Rogers.”

You wanted to say _thank you for having us_ , but your brain was buzzing with million thoughts, still processing the sensation of Steve’s lips on yours and was epically _failing_ , colours bursting inside instead, sending pleasant heat through your veins.

Luckily, Steve composed himself much faster and boy, wasn’t it saying something about your dynamics with each other.

“Thank you for having us, Laurel.”

_Yeah, thanks, Laurel. Thanks to you, I reached the point of no return._

_In other words; now I’m officially screwed._

───── ⋆⋅♥⋅⋆ ─────

Sam overestimated his time-managing skills, still finishing the stretching after his training when the interview started. For once, he was grateful for Tony’s need for extravagance, as every one of the Tower gyms offered a TV for Sam to watch while he wrapped it up.

At few times, he wasn’t able to tell whether he was groaning at his sore muscles or at the way his little sister and his best friend were sickeningly sweet on each other.

Seriously. He wouldn’t have questioned it if it they truly had been in a relationship (read: if they pulled their heads out of their asses and finally admitted how they felt about each other, for real), but the fact it was all pretend _(not,_ except neither of them was aware of the other not pretending and _Jesus,_ Sam’s head hurt) was worrying him.

The kiss was a case of its own.

Would they be able to walk out of that mess and stay friends, possibly more? Or would it drive a wedge between them forever, messy feelings and misunderstandings getting in the way?

He resumed watching on his phone as he made his way to the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of juice, but stopped at the door when he heard voices coming from the room and instantly knew what was the subject of the discussion.

“Well. I say the interview was _alright,_ not perfect, but alright, almost cute like the two of them together, after all… but the kiss _did_ look like their first time,” Tony stated, sighing in disappointment.

“It _was_ their first time, what did you expect? You didn’t really think they would be practicing beforehand, right?” Natasha snorted and Sam couldn’t but agree.

This was _Steve_ they were talking about. The man had done a fair share of changes to his believes as he found himself in the new millennium, but certain principles he stuck to, which was something Sam was immensely grateful for.

He was about to join the discussion with his own input, when he froze in his tracks at Tony’s next words.

“Good point. But hey, she made them finally smack their mouths together. I call that a win. She was a good choice, we’re geniuses.”

“Yep,” came Natasha’s reply and Sam heard the distinct sound of a high-five, only to see their hands still up when he stormed into the room.

For the moment, he ignored the creepy fact that the screen was frozen at the image of their lips locked together and glared at the two Avengers, irritated and hungry for answers.

“What the _hell_ do you mean you’re geniuses?”

 _“Blyad'!”_ Natasha cursed, frowning as she spotted the look on Sam’s face and how his hands were balled into fists with enough force to nearly snap his phone in half.

Tony eyed Natasha, not sure what exactly she said and not quite caring; the sentiment behind the word was apparently clear enough to him as it was to Sam.

The expression on Tony’s face spoke a thousand of words; or perhaps only three: _We are screwed._

Sam wholeheartedly agreed as he paced to the pair, fuming.

“Start. Talking,” he hissed, each word clipped, as he was staring them down, ignorant to the fact these were a billionaire and a former KGB assassin he was ordering around. “Like _right_ now.”


	5. The Truth and Nothing but the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lies always have consequences; you just never imagined they would look like this. You should have known better…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: creepiness towards the end

Coming back to work was a true life-hazard.

First of all; you didn’t sleep properly. Basically not at all. You couldn’t get Steve out of your head, the feeling of his lips on yours and their taste, his hand on your face, on your hip, the sensation under _your hands,_ the sincerity of his tone when he spoke about you two together— all of that kept you awake, ruminating in your head, lines between reality and fantasy blurring in the restless slumber keeping you company the whole night.

Second of all; there was a pile of paperwork to fill since you had been absent for the past two days.

And the worst of all; your colleague was there. And she was terrible at hiding her curiosity, downright gawking at you, her eyes following your every movement, every nervous shift in your posture, not single one of your sighs escaping her attention.

Hint: you were mostly sighing because you could feel her glare on you and you _knew_ she wanted to ask about everything, but gave you the opportunity to start talking on your own, while being passively aggressive as fuck and driving you insane.

You didn’t have the slightest idea what to tell her, because you sucked at lying, you felt bad about lying to her in the first place, but you also signed an agreement on confidentiality.

So… where did that leave you?

You sighed again, leaning your back onto the backrest of your ergonomic chair and crossed your arms on your chest, spinning the chair to face your friend.

“Yes, Irma? Something on your mind?” you asked slowly and she grinned.

“What the _fuck_ is happening?” she blurted out, using the swirling hair as a means of transport, wheeling to you and despite yourself, you snorted at her ridiculousness.

“Well, you’re staring at me the whole day while I’m working through this big-ass pile of papers, that’s what,” you shrugged light-heartedly, while your heart in fact sped up in your chest.

Why hadn’t you just kept your mouth shut and let her come to her own conclusions only?

“Har, har. Spill it. I leave you alone for _two days…” You_ left her alone, thank you very much, because you hadn’t as much as shown your face in the office. “You’ve been ignoring me.” In that respect, she was correct; she had been blowing your phone and you blatantly ignored her. “You can’t escape me now. So…what the hell?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb,” she huffed, patting her feet on the ground again, her inching closer. “Congrats and all that, glad that the heart-eyes exchange that’s been going on for a while escalated and you _finally_ got together, but what is all that interview and engagement bullshit?”

You groaned, turning back to your table, and let your forehead meet the desk.

 _Right_. Irma was convinced that there was something going on between you and Steve (she very pointedly called it ‘eye-fucking’, god bless her for saying ‘heart-eyes’ just this once) ever since you had started going to lunch with him alone – courtesy of Sam being busy at the moment and hence not being able to join you two and your _friendly_ lunch date.

“Got the sentiment, not the words, hon. Spill it.”

You huffed, your lips barely moving as you were practically kissing the table. “It’s…” _What was the word they always used?_ “…classified.”

“Oh come on! I’m your friend! And who am I gonna tell?” she exclaimed, half-offended, half-excited. “I’m totally harmless!”

She… had a point, right? Who was she gonna tell? She _was_ your friend and she even covered for you when you messed something up, she was loyal to the company, being there longer than you and—and-

And you still couldn’t spill your guts to her.

Or could you?

Raising your head and meeting her expectant gaze, you kept your mouth shut as you reached for your phone and started typing.

Peripherally, you could see her frown in discontent and confusion.

“I’m sorry, are you ignoring me again, young lady?!”

You held up your index finger, sent the text and _then_ you resumed to ignore her.

She rudely waved her hand in front of your face when you returned to the paperwork.

“It’s classified,” you repeated absently, distractedly reading over the lines of the document, checking for typos.

Irma threw her hands in the air and refused to leave, looking over your shoulder as your heart nearly gave out with the insane pace it was set up in.

Had she always been so nosy?

You almost jumped out of your skin when your phone started vibrating, lighting up with Steve’s face.

You hadn’t spoken or texted ever since the taxi dropped you off at your apartment after the interview. You had spent the rest of the night alone, perfectly content with a take-out and your intrusive thoughts about ridiculously attractive and kind supersoldier keeping you from some quality sleep.

“Your boyfriend’s calling you,” your friend pointed out, grin in her voice as you sarcastically thanked her for her observation and accepted the call.

“Hey- hey, Steve,” you stuttered to the phone nervously, _not_ expecting him to react to your stupid text so soon, with a phone-call no less.

“Hey,” he greeted you courtly and you gulped, avoiding your friend’s gaze. You were _dating_ Steve; whatever he was about to tell you, you shouldn’t look _spooked_ when talking to him in front of anyone who wasn’t involved. “I assume you’re talking about your office-mate?”

“Y-yes.”

Your breath was knocked out of your lungs when he proceeded to tell you her full name, social security number, her marital status and names of siblings and parents.

“Yeah, that’s… eh, that’s her.”

Your colleague raised her eyebrow questioningly.

“Do you trust her?” he asked matter-of-factly. “Her records are clean, but we can’t have her telling tales anywhere.”

“Yes,” you confirmed, trying to sound firm.

The idea of confiding in someone who wasn’t an Avenger _and_ didn’t have a penis was way too tempting and you started to getting giddy on the inside, already feeling the relief at the mere idea of spilling it to _someone_.

You melted into your seat when Steve spoke up again, his tone much more like the one you were used to, hell, _softer_ even.

“I understand this must be difficult for you. You deserve to talk about it with your friends and I… I understand that maybe you don’t… you don’t want to talk about it with me. Just… you can, you know? You can tell me anything, doll,” Steve coaxed you, voice falling an octave.

 _Yeah? How about I tell you that I think I love you? What would you say to that? Can I tell you that? Because I really want to, especially when you’re using that stupid,_ stupid _petname-_

“…but I understand. It’s your call. If you trust her, you can tell her.”

There were literally no limits to Steve’s kindness, you were sure of it. You truly were doomed, weren’t you? How could you _not_ love him?

“Thank you, Steve. I… really appreciate it. I… I trust you too, you know?” you whispered, momentarily forgetting he wasn’t the only one hearing you.

You could imagine the subtle lift of the corners of his lips – lips that kissed you yesterday, oh dear God, lips you dreamed of –, the gentle light in his eyes, yet with a tiny cocky spark in the irises… you could picture all of that only by hearing the tone of his voice when he answered.

“I hope so. You’re doing alright after yesterday?”

 _No._ “Y-yeah. You?”

He sighed tiredly. “Work is work is work and the PR is sending me e-mails that are basically just streak of curses – I’m learning new words today –, because their phones won’t stop ringing. I’m fine.”

You chuckled, imagining Steve’s eyes widening and his cheeks flushing at every new swearword, probably a new term for a manhood.

“Aww, you poor baby,” you cooed, your lips automatically curving in a smile. “Do you want me to beat them up for you?”

“God, no!” he blurted out, sounding almost as if he panicked at the image of you trying to sock the employees of personal relations in their jaw. Whether his horror was caused by the fear for them or you, you’d never know. He chuckled then. “Thanks for the offer though.”

Someone tugged at your skirt and you realized that you were, in fact, _not_ alone in the room.

“Anytime, Steve. Gotta go back to work now. Stay strong?”

“I’ll try. Same to you. See you for lunch?”

You grinned. “Yep. Sam already told me he will be our bodyguard. Brave man,” you teased Steve and you could practically see him rolling his eyes.

“ _Brave man,”_ he mimicked, as if jealous. “He sure is. See you then. Have a nice morning.”

Was it a hobby of his to cause your heart to burst with his insufferably gentle voice or something?

“You too, Steve. Bye.”

“You two are honesty disgusting. If I wasn’t so happy for you, I might puke. And did you just ask your boyfriend for permission to tell me? Really?!” Irma instantly chimed in and you shot her a look to cool her down.

“Yes. I _told you:_ it’s classified,” you deadpanned. “I’ll tell, but not now, not here. Girls’ night?”

She pumped her fists in victory gesture and you sighed, mentally preparing for an interrogation. You _had to_ go somewhere where they had no desk-lamps; she would aim it to your face for dramatic effect, you were sure of it. You couldn’t believe she was almost five years older than you sometimes.

“I thought you’ll never ask, future _Mrs. Rogers.”_

You grabbed the nearest paper, hoping it wasn’t important, and scrunched it up. With your perfect toss, it hit her square to the middle of her head as she unwisely turned her back to you.

She snorted in laughter, but let you breathe for the rest of the workday.

The evening couldn’t come fast enough.

───── ⋆⋅♥⋅⋆ ─────

Contrary to what you thought when learning you’d talk fake relationships with Irma in the evening, the day actually passed in a blur; a very exhausting blur filled with work, with a highlight of the lunch with Steve and Sam. You only attracted a few more glances than usual, people discouraged by the two Avengers glaring at them if they lingered with their eyes for too long. At the same time, Sam served as a mediator for you and Steve, keeping the conversation light and off potentially dangerous topics like _kissing_ , so that was… nice.

Naturally, you thought the night would turn out nice as well. Which… it did? Kinda…? The alcohol helped.

Irma, the amazing friend she was, got you tipsy first, listened patiently and then proceeded to tell you that you were in some deep shit, totally screwed – or not screwed at all, to be precise – and that it would blow up to your face, because you could be terrible at communicating and voicing your feelings, which was why you were in this situation in the first place, because otherwise you and Steve already would have been a couple, you _could have,_ if you just opened your damn mouth and told Steve how you felt weeks ago, after which he would have kissed you and _screwed_ _you_ against a wall or something, because _eye-fucking,_ _duh, I keep telling you that._

You had a wonderful girl-friend. Was it too late to call Sam?

But in the end, confiding Irma in felt really _good_ and overall, it was a great night.

You should have known something was going shit all over it.

As tipsy as you were, you and Irma agreed to take a walk rather than call a cab, saving money and reducing the danger of throwing up.

What an idiotic idea since you lived over twenty blocks from each other!

The moment her door clicked shut behind her, you snuggled up into your coat and started walking; at much faster pace than before. Not that it was easy in the heels, because of course you were wearing heels; it was girls’ night and you wanted to feel pretty _and_ you hadn’t anticipated walking a long distance in them.

Silly you.

Feeling the pleasant buzz of alcohol which had been warming you up before vanish, you shivered, looking over your shoulder when a particularly loud guy from a group of drunks by the near-by bar yelled how much he loved America.

You could relate, partly at least, by one half to be precise, because after your heart-to-heart with Irma, you were pretty certain you were at least a tiny bit in love with its infamous Captain, but who cared. You didn’t feel drunk anymore and other drunk people scared you.

Hell, everything seemed frightening to you now for some inexplicable reason, especially since another guy from the group catcalled you as he noticed you turning around to glance at them. You quickly whipped your head back and quickened your pace.

Turning around the corner, you sighed in relief when you heard them start singing, apparently not too upset you disappeared from their view.

It was only about a minute later, when a shiver ran down your spine, a premonition of something dark, shady, chilling. Vaguely remembering that glancing over your shoulder and actually spotting the person whose eyes you felt following you might only encourage them, you kept glaring ahead, yet couldn’t help but add to your tempo. Your feet were starting to hurt, but you didn’t give a crap, feeling your heart jumping to your throat, beating wildly, your chest feeling tight.

You were confident enough that people didn’t recognize you throughout the whole night at the bar, let alone identifying you as Cap’s girl on the night New York street; everyone was much more focused on the fact that their beloved Captain _liked it so he put a ring on it,_ rather than actually giving you a second glance, you were sure. And contrary to the popular belief, people – even of New York – had other things to live than for Avengers’ romance.

Still, you were a woman – a stupid lone woman walking the street at night, in heels no less, and really, just how did you make such a stupid decision at your age? To be fair, you were fake-dating a man you likely loved, so the bar was set very low.

And because despite your poor decision-making you were still a grown-up, so you did the first thing that came to your mind.

No, you didn’t call a cab.

You called Steve.

You were surprised when he answered after two rings only; perhaps you shouldn’t have. Steve Rogers was always at his friends’ disposal.

Steve Rogers was also very sleepy when he spoke.

“Hey,” he greeted you, quietly and you could _punch_ yourself for waking him up. Of course he was asleep! It was like… oh, two a.m. already. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out instantly, feeling like an idiot.

Not because Steve was always asleep at two a.m. – in fact, you had the privilege to know that there were times when he was desperately trying to fill his sleepless nights with pretty much anything, as nightmares, his restless brain or the serum coursing through his veins kept him awake. You felt like an idiot, because there had been a little chance he actually _would be_ asleep and you just ruined it for him.

“What are you sorry for?”

“I woke you up. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry-“

You would swear that even over your babble, you could still hear someone’s steps approaching and you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to walk faster.

“You’re not an idiot,” Steve’s soothed you, voice still rough with sleep. You could hear some rustle; bedsheets, you assumed. “What’s wrong?”

_I’m shitting my pants, because someone is following me. I think._

You gulped, pushing yourself to speed up without breaking into a run and nearly sighed in relief when the person behind you resumed their pace.

“I’m on my way from the bar. It’s stupid but… I feel lonely?” you explained, lowering your voice and judging by the sharp inhale on the other end of the line, Steve understood you felt hella lot more than just _lonely._ “Could you… could you maybe stay on the phone with me? Please?”

“Of course I will,” he was quick to assure you, but you heard him moving around his room now. Could he be- “But I’ll do you one better. Where are you?”

“Steve, you- you don’t have to do that.” You instantly felt bad, mostly because the idea of him coming to get you sounded like heaven and it caused your gut twist in guilt, because you had no right to ask that from him. “You’re not obliged to—it’s not like-- like you are-“

- _my boyfriend._

“Hey. You might not be my fiancée, but you’re my _friend._ When my friend doesn’t feel safe, I’ll go get her so she will.”

You could weep at that, both regret you were nothing more but friend and at the tone he said it, warming you from inside out despite the fear still at your heels. You slowed down just a fraction, tension in your shoulders easing, your chest finally expanding as you inhaled generously, not realizing you had been barely breathing before.

“Thank you, Steve,” you whispered.

“Of course. Anytime,” he threw your earlier remark back at you and you couldn’t help but smile despite feeling shaky on your feet. He could be so damn cheeky sometimes.

“Apparently,” you hummed. “But seriously, thank you.”

“No problem. I might have already checked your tracker so I’m coming to get you, yeah?”

Oh. Right, you forgot about that; the trackers. You had got so used to the weight of the necklace on your chest that it was easy not to think about the fact that it contained a tracking device. You felt even safer now; if anything happened, they’d find you; which it wouldn’t, because Steve was on his way.

“Now talk to me. Did you have a good time?”

You smiled at his inquiry and continued walking, almost at peace.

“I mean, it wasn’t bad at all…”

───── ⋆⋅♥⋅⋆ ─────

Waking up from your slumber, your first thought was that your head hurt; the second was that the pain was so immense that you might as well be in hell.

Hell seemed to be very uncomfortable; your head lulled to your side, neck craned in such strange angle that it made the headache worse and something hard was digging into your spine, not to mention you could barely feel you bottom as the surface was as unwelcoming as the flat backrest and overall, hell simply _sucked_.

Where the heck had you fallen asleep? This was the least comfortably chair _ever_ made.

With a groan, you tried to move your head to a less headache-inducing position, but your body felt _so heavy._

What in the fuck had happened? How had you got- _where_ had you-

Blurry images of a dark street, roar of a motorcycle, Steve’s sleepy and yet cheeky grin as he hopped off-- _‘You look like the most handsome biker-gang leader, Steve’_ \- “ _Will you be my stunning biker chick then?’--_ gentle hands taking your coat and slipping a leather jacket on, the comforting smell--- the world swaying off of its place- darkness-- pain-

Gasping, you forced your eyes snap open, even the dim light too sharp for your hungover eyes; several blinks that followed did little to sooth the burn.

With a heart in your throat, you took in your surroundings; the very first thing you saw was Steve and you could cry in relief. Whatever was happening, whatever your mind wasn’t ready to supply you with just yet, it would be alright. Steve was right here--

-hunched in a metallic chair, his wrists, shins, ankles strapped to it, thick leather strip over his chest keeping him upright, because he was- he was—your breathing stopped in horror when you noticed the thin wires leading from his body, needles piercing his skin on several places--- unconscious, he was _unconscious_ and-

With a cry of his name on your lips, you lunged forward, not expecting the resistance you met with. Your voice died in your throat as you quickly scanned your body, marking that you were very much strapped to a chair as well. God bless, no _needles_ in your body, just some sort of tourniquet reminding you of check-ups at your GP-

Jerking with all strength you could gather, you whined in frustration when your restraints didn’t give, not moving even an inch.

Tears gathered in your eyes, your other senses engaging to build an image of terror – cold was seeping into your bones, the sharp stink of mould, sweat and urine filled your nose and you could hear periodic taps, drops of water falling.

Surging forward once more with zero result, you cried out, a sob breaking from your lips.

Your frantic gaze searched the room, devices you couldn’t even hope to recognize on your left, seemingly endless emptiness on your right. And if front of you-

“Steve!” you sobbed, clearing your throat to speak louder than in a broken whisper. _“Steve!”_

He was motionless; you squinted in the shadows, focusing on his chest, praying you could see it moving.

Tears spilled from your eyes, this time from relief; the expands of his ribcage were there, barely noticeable, but present. 

Your gaze followed the wires that led from his body to one of the machines and your stomach made an unpleasant somersault as you tasted bile on your tongue.

What the fuck was this nightmare?

The answer came from your right, a heavy metallic sound and creak, door shutting. You winced, not daring to breathe, your heart nearly beating its way out of your chest with the swift footsteps approaching.

Instinctively, you backed into the chair, ignoring how uncomfortable it was; that was the least of your worries now, being _comfy_.

A man of average height emerged from the dark, black hair the only thing visible from his head as he wore a plastic mask, nearly transparent with black lines in the place of eyes, nose and mouth.

You shrieked in terror when he tilted his head curiously.

“You’re awake. Good,” he stated, sounding pleased as he paced to the machines, ignorant to your paralysing panic.

You felt a tremble running through your body, your throat too tight with dread for you to speak; to demand what this was, how did you get here, how-

“The captain is taking a bit long though,” he mused and your gaze, following him previously as he flipped a switch, bringing another of the machines to life, swiftly moved to Steve’s crumpled figure.

A sting of longing and fear punched your ribcage and you finally found the courage to speak, praying it wouldn’t set the mysterious man off.

“What did—what did you do to him?” you whispered, voice hoarse from crying.

The man looked up, the smile painted on his mask making you want to throw up.

“Combinations of tranquilizers. Perhaps I overdid it.”

You would have doubled over if it wasn’t for the strap on your chest keeping you upright. The edge of your vision darkened, black embracing you soothingly for few seconds.

_Perhaps?!_

Your eyes swiftly found Steve once more, clinging onto the motions of his ribcage like onto dear life.

_Christ, he’s lucky to be even breathing._

Needless to say, you would have been much more assured if Steve was awake _and_ if he hadn’t had… had the—the-

“The… the needles?” you choked out, a sob bubbling in your throat as the image of multiple thin needles in Steve’s body burned itself into your retinas.

You’d never forget this sight in your life.

 _Fairly enough though, that might not be a very long time._ The thought had you squeeze your eyes shut.

“Electric pulses,” he explained as easily as if he was telling you it was raining outside.

 _Electric-_ you wanted to cry and puke at the same time and most of all, you wanted to wake up from this fucked up nightmare.

“It should keep him less mobile once he wakes up. It took me quite a while to figure it out. Not an easy task to keep Captain America down.”

 _He seems down enough now,_ you thought wryly and shivered, your face twisting as you tried hard not to imagine what was being done to Steve’s body.

When you looked closely – _really closely –_ you could see the tinniest twitches of his fingers.

Before hope could get a hold of you, you noticed the startling periodicity of those motions; he wasn’t waking up. It wasn’t him moving on his own account.

It was the pulses.

Your head spun, the whole world swaying aside, your eyes rolling back; you didn’t feel like your body belonged to you anymore as the wave of revulsion caused your insides to coil violently.

What kind of a sick monster did this to another person?

Tearing your blurry gaze away from Steve’s form, you shot the other man a loathing look, the force of hatred towards him nearly startling you.

“Stop that _right now,”_ you hissed dangerously as if you weren’t strapped to a chair yourself, utterly helpless.

You had a feeling that the maniac smiled behind his mask, but you couldn’t tell for sure.

How did you not throw up just yet?

“You don’t make demands here.”

Electricity crackled in the air with whatever he did with the machines and you winced, your whole body tensing in horrible anticipation.

He was going to the same to you—he was about to-

“Now, I’m sure you’re curious what’s happening here…” _Not really, no, Christ, just let us go-_ “…I brought you here to ensure your future commitment to each other will be proper.”

_What in the-_

He rose from his own chair, carrying what looked like electrodes towards you.

You balled your hands into fists, trying to break the restraints, but they didn’t even budge as the man leaned forward with a purpose; clasps joined to your cuffs and you felt your teeth clatter at the icy fingers of fear running down your spine.

He just wired you to a source of electricity.

 _Sick_ , he was such a sick person, whatever he had said meant--how could anyone just-

“What the hell are you talking about?” you breathed out, not having a clue where the strength to speak up came from.

“I’m simply gonna ask a few questions,” he replied, fastening the same clasps on Steve’s straps – as if the blond didn’t already have _electricity_ _coursing through his body_ making him fucking _spasm_ every now and then – before turning to face you. “And you’re gonna tell me the truth. Nothing but the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun.
> 
> Oops, this one got away from me a bit and it’s… morbid, I know. But we finally got to the title at least…?


	6. The Worst Pre-honeymoon Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lying is a delightful thing, for it leads to truth…” (Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest one so far and also the most important one; the very birth of this fic. There you go.  
>  **Warnings:** a lot of swearing, implied stalking, creepiness and sick beliefs, violence, torture

Considering how messed up you were and what circumstances you found yourself in, it suddenly took you a ridiculously little amount of time to realize what at least one of those machines was.

It was a polygraph.

_A lie detector._

What was the questioning going to about you could only guess, because _‘I brought you here to ensure your future commitment to each other can be proper”_ was as much of a fucked-up clue as it was a useless one.

Your mind was about to kick into an overdrive with morbid fantasies, when a groan caught your attention. Your head instantly snapped to Steve, the source of the pained noise.

He squeezed his eyes tightly, shifting his head back and forth, the motion slow, but with a purpose, as if he was trying to avoid annoying sunrays in the morning.

For a brief moment, you wondered if either of you were about to see the morning sun ever again and the thought made you choke up.

Steve’s eyelids fluttered open drowsily, barely focused eyes searching the room until his gaze fell on you and his eyes widened. His lips whispered your name and despite the tears gathering in your eyes, you gave him a watery smile.

“Hey, Steve,” you creaked and his gaze trailed over your body, pupils dilating so much that they nearly hid all of the cerulean of his irises.

He straightened in his chair; or attempted too, his body probably feeling as heavy as yours when you had woken up; possibly heavier even, with that sicko drugging him with a mixture of sedatives that could have stop his _breathing_.

“Whatta-“ he rasped, his fingers twitching, more forcefully than you grew accustomed to while being here and his glare found the body part in question with utter confusion – and horror.

“Captain, good to see you awake at last.”

Steve tried to stand up to face the voice, the supposed enemy, but he barely moved at all; the tips of his shoes rose a fraction, his thumbs flexing, his palms rising just an inch before falling back to the armrest helplessly.

His eyes found the man at least, his chin coming to rest on his shoulder to keep it from falling on his chest as the muscles in his neck weren’t able to do their job.

Seeing Steve Rogers in a significantly weakened state was a new and an entirely terrifying thing that shook you to a core. Steve Rogers, _Captain America,_ always strong and ready to swing in to save everyone…. You had seen him bruised before, a fading black-eye maybe, a healing scar on his cheek, but nothing that came even close to this; witnessing his battle to keep his head up, that-- _that_ was fucking scary.

You had never _ever_ been met with a sight of him drained enough not to hold his body straight.

However, determination and anger were written all over his face as his eyes narrowed and it was the only thing which felt _familiar_ about him.

It was the sole thing helping you to maintain a piece of sanity, his attitude shining a ray of hope into the darkness and horror of this godforsaken place when a psycho who hooked up Steve to some machine to deliver periodical electric pulses.

_Jesus. Christ._

One simple word, mumbled with difficulty, yet carrying a menace; it broke the silence suddenly and startlingly.

 _“You,”_ Steve muttered, glaring at your masked captor.

You blinked simultaneously with Steve; while he was apparently attempting to shake off his drowsiness, you were simply confused.

He… had he had an idea who this psycho was?

Your captor ignored him though and went to seat himself to a chair by the polygraph and one more device, causing your face drain of all colour in a terrifying premonition.

“Now that we are all set-“

“You’re the vendor,” Steve stated, still fighting the effect of sedatives, forcing his muscles to move according to his commands.

The fact that he couldn’t was heart-breaking, but what he called the man behind the mask was downright mind-blowing.

The… the vendor? As if-

The man sighed, a breathless chuckle escaping his lips as he reached for the edge of the mask, pealing it off.

To your undiluted shock, he truly revealed a face of a man who had sold you the ring.

What the actual-- you had found him creepy okay, but _not_ I’m-going-to-kidnap-you-and-torture-you creepy! How—how did he even get to you, how did he overpower a freaking supersoldier, how he _moved_ him anywhere, Steve was a mass of muscle, heavy and this guy was just-

“Nothing escapes your attention, I see,” the unmasked man remarked. “I should have known. There is no point in hiding then. Let’s begin-“

“How did you find us?” Steve demanded and for the first time since you had been back to consciousness, it dawned to you that… this was, in fact, what you had wanted. You _wanted_ the man behind the kidnappings to find you.

You most definitely hadn’t wanted it to come to _this_ ¸ but-

Despite feeling like absolute shit, cold and terrified in your very core, you… you forced yourself to stop freaking out that much at least. Your mission was on. This was the plan.

_Kinda._

“The tracker in the ring, naturally,” the madman answered almost kindly, one corner of his lips rising.

Your heart nearly gave out; he put a _tracker_ in the ring?! What the fuck?!

And then it hit you; a _tracker_.

You had two trackers on you now; one in the ring from this psycho, one in the necklace from Tony freaking Stark.

The Avengers must have been on their way already Your eyes fluttered close, relief flooding your veins from the centre of your chest to your fingertips. It would be over soon.

Right?

“Unfortunately, I have to inform you I needed to deactivate the tracking devices in your necklace and belt.”

Your eyes snapped open in horror, finding Steve’s alarmed ones.

What? WHAT?!

_Fuck._

_No, don’t freak out (again) just yet!_ Surely _Tony freaking Stark_ had counted on that option, right? Because he was a genius, he-

The pure horror in Steve’s face told you otherwise. No, he hadn’t. At least not that Steve knew of.

Fuck, _fuck, FUCK-!!_

Steve slowly shook his head, grimacing; he wasn’t one to give up. And spotting the terror on your face, he most definitely was not the one to submit, no, he would be the one to keep your head above water before you could drown in panic.

“Was smart,” Steve muttered, apparently still with difficulty, but more clearly now. You would be delighted that his state improving, except your mind was too busy trying to figure out why the heck did it sound as if he just praised your kidnapper. “So is your profession. You can get the information on new couples first-hand.”

The vendor seemed thoughtful as he nodded, but then a scowl twisted his expression.

“Wouldn’t be my first choice.”

And it finally, _finally_ dawned to your slow brain what was Steve doing. He was _stalling._ To what end you weren’t sure, but you hoped it meant that the Ironman himself would be able to find you anyway… _somehow_.

“What… what would be your first choice?” you whispered softly, too scared of setting something in him off by speaking louder.

“Doesn’t matter. I found my purpose now,” he replied, leaning to the machines and you gulped when a spark flied from it.

“And what is the purpose again?”

The man turned to Steve at the question. “I am a servant of love. Of true love. One of faith, trust and honesty,” he declared proudly and you wanted to puke. He sounded fucking _insane._

_A servant of love? Tell that to the missing couples!_

“How do you serve this love?” Steve queried, somehow managing to sound genuinely interested and when the other man hesitated, you held your breath.

“Mm. I protect people from entering a marriage based on lies.”

_BY KIDNAPPING THEM AND KILLING THEM?!_

Because that was the assumption, wasn’t it? If the couples had disappeared and never reappeared, then they were very likely dead.

Just like you might be in a couple of minutes.

You breathed through the hysteria crawling up your throat, rather holding onto the fact Steve was still trying to do something here. The stalling seemed to be working well.

But for how long? And was the time bought with this enough for the Avengers finding you despite this man’s plots?

“You’re protecting them from the same fate you suffered,” Steve deduced and you winced.

“Yes. I know the pain lies can cause to a man. Love must be pure. When you promise dedication to another person, you must be truly committed to them,” he stated seriously and your head… spun as you slowly pierced together a story of a man with a broken heart and… a broken mind, turning absolutely fucking mad from the betrayal.

Ill, he was _ill,_ mentally, but that didn’t justify his actions in the slightest.

“You were married and your partner has been unfaithful,” Steve guessed, but sounded as if he knew for sure, coming to the same conclusion as you.

“How do you-“ the vendor chuckled then, a watery sound as his own memories must have been brought to life, reopening the wound and rubbing salt in it. “Of course you would figure it out…. She sat in this very chair, you know? With her new fiancé. And she didn’t even love him. She was only after his money. And he didn’t love her either, just enjoying the adventure. Such a shame…”

Your blood crystalized in your veins, icy cold, and not for the first time, your stomach turned all over, its contents threatening to spill from your mouth.

He… had he—he-

“Where is she now?” you quipped, unable to keep the question from spilling from your lips, needing to know the answer and dreading it at the same time.

His smile was blinding as he looked at you. “In eternity.”

A violent tremble shook your body and your eyes closed at their own account, tears welling up and instantly rolling down your cheeks.

“I’m sure I’ll meet her one day and we will be reunited, her soul reaching absolution, her love for me finally purified.”

 _Well,_ I _hope she reached absolution and you’ll rot in hell, you sadistic psycho. You murdered your ex-wife!_

“You had enough answers. I’m gonna ask now. Don’t you dare to lie; lies only bring pain to our loved ones,” he warned you, his voice carrying the echo of his own heartbreak.

To deliver his point, your captor pressed a button on what looked like a primitive remote.

A sharp tingle ran through your body and you jerked in your seat, a startled yelp escaping you.

Steve hissed, apparently receiving the same treatment, but being less bothered by it; or at least aiming to appear like that for your benefit.

It was scarily easy to comprehend what was about to happen. You were about to get a shock treatment for every lie leaving your lips.

Steve’s eyes locked on you, pleading. The message written in them was clear; _don’t lie at any circumstances._

You didn’t need to be told twice; you did _not_ want to be punished by fucking _electricity, thank you very much._

“Let’s start with low intensity and simple questions…” the man informed you casually, rising from his seat, and walked to Steve right after he set something on the machine. It started humming and his words echoed in your skull, bouncing dully in the space with terrible realization. He was about to turn up the intensity at some point. _Jesus fuck._ “Do you care for this woman, Captain?”

Steve fought to raise his chin in defiance, looking the man dead in the eye.

“Yes.”

Your captor turned to you, smiling. “Told you I’d start with the easy ones. Isn’t it nice to know the truth? Look at that. No significant changes to the lines.”

You followed his line of gaze, noticing for the first time the outcome of the… testing. The polygraph monitoring yours and Steve’s _whatever_ was writing down lines of low amplitudes. He was right.

And you didn’t give a shit.

You just wanted to-- to be free again and not under the threat of being possibly _electrocuted_.

He went to switch something on the machine before asking you the same question. “Now… do you care for this man?”

This question indeed was easy; yet, the intense eyes of the man who had your destiny in his hands made it hard for you to breathe and answer.

“Y-yes.”

The scribbling on the paper of the polygraph got madder and your heart honest to God stopped.

What the _fuck_ , you were telling the truth!

Your examiner frowned at the paper. “You’re a nervous one, aren’t you? Don’t worry about that.”

_No fucking kidding, you have me connected to a-_

“Let’s proceed. Have you ever kissed someone else since you started this relationship?”

“Have you had an intercourse with someone else since you started this relationship?”

These were easy to pass; especially considering that you had started fake-dating Steve only two – three? – days ago.

Was it really so shortly? It felt like eternity.

Then again, you felt like you had been in this creepy-as-fuck dungeon, your heart beating so fast that it might fail any second, for _hours_. And the period seemingly grew more immense as he turned up the potential punishment with each question.

Where the fuck was Tony Stark when you needed him?! Being fashionably late was _not_ an option right now!

“You’re doing very well so far,” the man praised you both with a satisfied smile and moved to Steve once more; not before he modified the volts again.

You shivered at both his expression and actions. You prayed to _Lord_ that you didn’t come across as lying, the memory of the short but intense warning at the beginning of the questioning still vivid in your mind. And that had been just a _taste,_ the levels were much higher now.

A violent shudder shook your body.

“Have you always been honest about your feelings for her?”

For a brief moment, your brain just… froze.

There was one thing you hadn’t considered about this whole ordeal and that Steve finding out how you felt about him.

The moment you’d be asked that question… you’d either had to lie and get… some shock treatment or you’d have to tell the truth.

There was a saying about a rock and a hard place and you felt like it very much applied right now. Also… what would the man do if you told the truth and said _no?_ He was all about honesty and if you hadn’t been honest with Steve, then there was clearly something wrong; at least according to his messed-up code or some shit.

Fuck _rocks and hard places._

“I…” Steve whispered, finding your gaze. One look into his eyes and you realized that he was… torn.

Why was he torn? Did he _hate_ you and never told you or something? That was ridiculous, right? You would have noticed that.

“Yes, Captain?” the man encouraged him.

Steve gulped, locking glares with the man. “Yes.”

The sudden beep nearly made you jump out of your skin and the man sighed, his whole demeanour changing. He eyed you and you couldn’t but frown.

Steve _lied_. You tried hard not to think about _why,_ but thought about the fact that he did and… and that he was-- he was about to get-

“You don’t— you don’t need to hurt him, he’s-“ you quickly blurted out, panicking more when Steve shook his head behind the psycho with the remote, mouthing ‘don’t’. “-I’m sure it’s only some… misunderstanding.”

Yeah, you could see why Steve discouraged you from speaking.

You sounded utterly stupid and pathetic.

“See, that’s what I thought at first about my late wife. This can’t be happening in an honest relationship. I’m truly sorry about this,” he hummed regretfully, stepping away from Steve.

Your heart was squeezed by a cold fist when you saw the supersoldier – momentarily incapacitated – brace for the pain and your hands balled into fists, nails digging into your palms.

“Wait-“ you called out once more, but the man pushed the button anyway.

Your body was set on fire.

An agonized scream erupted from your chest, but you might have imagined it, because you didn’t have control over anything.

Someone struck a match and threw it on your body drenched in gasoline, igniting every cell, every nerve ending; acid flew through your veins, burning, everywhere, inside, outside, pain, pain, _pain-_ and screams, a voice full of rage and desperation, _God, is this hell,_ searing hot, cries of agony, black and crimson, blinding white of the burning heat, fire, _fire_ and no end in sight, only more gasoline poured in--

You gasped as if you were pulled out from under water and earned a second above surface, greedily swallowing oxygen through your burning windpipe, stinging pressure expanding in your lungs, more, more, _Jesus_ , you needed _more_ -

Your fingertips tingled painfully, the muscles in your forearms spasming, the aftertaste of the unbearable heat it had been through stabbing tiny needles in every cell in your body. You were collapsed in the armchair, limp, unable to control the furious fight for oxygen your body led.

Your vision was blurry, dark spots dancing on its edges, pulsing visibly with each frantic beat of your heart.

The male voice – Steve’s, you realized – was still yelling, menacing and deadly.

“STOP! WHY did you do that to her?!” he demanded heatedly, the cerulean of his eyes swallowed by the darkest fury— and glazed by wetness of welled-up tears. “I’m sorry, oh god _,_ I’m so sorry-“

“I told you,” your captor stated coldly and as you tried to focus on him, your mind buzzing loudly with the aftermath of his punishment, you found your own cheeks damp, vision blurred by tears. “Lies hurt the people we love. People we care for.”

“She didn’t do ANYTHING WRONG!” Steve yelled, sitting surprisingly upward for few seconds before he no doubt received his periodic discharge to keep his strength in check and he melted back into the chair with a frustrated grimace, trying to get up the very next second.

“No, she didn’t. _You_ did. Now you know how this works.”

Between your raged breaths and your mind slowly clearing, you swore in your head. Answering this guy’s questions just got hella lot harder. You had not thought you’d enjoy going through that agony ever again, but the thought of putting someone else through it, _Steve_ of all people, that was downright unthinkable.

_And fucked up on an entirely new level._

“Now, dear, have you always-“

Staring at Steve’s face, white as the very sheet of paper where the records of his life functions were being written down, screaming thousands of apologies-- something in you snapped and you glared daggers at the sicko of a man who kidnapped you only to do-- _this_.

“Hey! No, I wasn’t. He was my friend first, have you thought of that? Do you think we just confessed our love to each other the first time we realized it? The first time we realized that we fell for our friend’s friend? No, the answer is one big _NO._ You bet your _fucking_ ass that I wasn’t honest!” you sputtered at him, leaning forward only the two inches you could.

You hadn’t thought it was possible, but Steve’s face turned even paler as he shot the insane man a look, dreading his reaction.

Okay, maybe you should have considered that _Steve_ might get shocked for your boldness, _shit-_

But the man in charge only frowned at you, seemingly deep in thought for endless seconds and then he broke into a manic smile.

“I’ll give you this one. You have a point. Very well…”

You sighed in relief; it appeared you wouldn’t find out the consequences of him not liking the truth just yet. Relaxing in your chair, you winced when your forearm spasmed again without your intent.

It wasn’t as painful anymore; but it was incredibly annoying not to be able to control your movements.

The involuntary twitch of muscle didn’t escape Steve’s attention and the deep wrinkle on his forehead which had been the first thing you noticed after— eh, the end of the shock, deepened. His brows were furrowed in concern, the corners of his mouth twisted downward and he just… you had been in agony, alright, it still fucking hurt, but you desperately wanted to give Steve a hug just to erase that troubled expression from his face.

“Moving to another question then. Is there anything you would change about her?”

The look on Steve’s face rivalled one of puppy now – a kicked one. “No.”

“Would you change anything about him?”

“No,” you answered simply, managing a reassuring smile. _‘I’m okay,’_ you mouthed and he shook his head, glancing away, his eyes glassy.

You captor nodded for himself. “Back on the right track. One last question then, the most important one…”

You shifted in your seat uncomfortably. It sounded ominous and that was saying something coming from you, considering everything that had happened today.

The machine hummed loudly as the man set the volts to maximum before turning Steve’s direction.

“Do you love her?”

Your heart gave out.

Well, _fuck._

It was to be expected, really. It was a perfectly logical question; the man who had your lives in his hands was a self-proclaimed protector of love, claiming to have the duty of ensuring people who were about to get married loved each other unconditionally and with no lie driving a wedge between them.

Yet, hearing the question fall from the madman’s lips paralysed you and filled you with emptiness, numbness settling deep inside your chest.

_‘Do you love her?’_

Four simple words sealing your fate.

Because no answer Steve could give was the right one, no answer would satisfy the murderer.

And judging by Steve’s expression, he realized that as well.

For several moments, you granted yourself the luxury of your eyelids falling shut, setting your jaw tight to keep your teeth from clattering in fear. You rocked back and forth in the chair, as much as your restraints allowed you to. Tears warmed your cheeks, salty paths of selfish grief, crying for you own life rushing towards its end.

Perhaps Steve could still escape?

You focused on the numbness in your ribcage, letting it engulf you, letting spread it through your mind until all you could think was a blank space.

Only then, you opened your eyes again, meeting Steve’s utterly desperate gaze and you knew, _knew_ that there was no way out of this; no loophole. He had no doubt come to the same conclusion.

The inner turmoil he must have been feeling reflected in his eyes – torn and hurt, dreading what would happen if he told the truth; you both knew what was coming if he lied, you had been through that, but what if he admitted that he _didn’t_ love you? What would this maniac do?

Steve’s jaw was clenched tight, a muscle twitching in what could be irritation. In the terribly silent space, the scribbling of the polygraph grew maddeningly loud, a noise of unbearable volume.

More tears escaped the wells of your eyes, your body trembling violently. You cursed the moment you had said yes to this insanity; you had been so stupid and naïve. Hiding behind doing the right thing, while wishing to be closer to Steve with no consequences to your friendship. How idiotic was that?

And where had that brought you?

To an empty cold room, seconds from being electrocuted.

Because that was what was about to happen, wasn’t it? If Steve said yes, the volts momentarily being set would kill you, no doubt. _Lies hurt the people we love._ If Steve said no… you were doomed as well, because this psycho was obsessed with the idea of love, it was the very reason why he was doing this. You were not stuck between a rock and a hard place; you were trapped between a death sentence and a death sentence.

Your eyelids slid shut for another moment and you tried your best to shush the sob crawling up your throat.

You were about to die.

 _Fuck,_ you didn’t want to die!

“Please, _please_ don’t do this,” a voice whispered into the staccato of the machines, cracking at the plea and your brain barely registered it was your own voice. The shock of the realization caused you to open your eyes again and your gaze fixated on your captor. _“Please.”_

He shook his head, making his way to Steve, imploring eyes shining with madness and excitement.

“Do you truly love this woman?”

You shook your head helplessly as Steve’s pained gaze found yours, his mouth twisted in a desperate grimace, the cerulean of his eyes speaking thousands of words. Thousands of apologies.

Your quivering lips formed a smile for the briefest moment, one of bravery, to encourage him to speak, to tell him that you didn’t blame him for this mess.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you reassured him softly, choking on a sob, which completely ruined your pretence of actually being strong. But what did it matter? You were a dead woman anyway.

Tears glistened in Steve’s eyes and he shook his head, pressing his lips together. The guilt of pulling you into this – a misplaced guilt – was evident, clearly eating him alive. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly. He lowered his gaze to the floor, ignoring the man who had basically climbed into his personal space.

_“Do you love her?“_

You saw Steve’s chest expanding vehemently with an inhale and you knew that the moment was here.

“Yes,” slipped past his lips.

In the half-second that followed, your only thought was that Steve wanted you to leave this world thinking he cared about you enough for wanting it to be quick – just one word to end this and deliver the shock rather than telling the truth and waiting for the madman’s response to the revelation.

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears springing out, your body bracing for the unbearable pain and then, hopefully, nothing.

In death, there should be peace, right? No pain? Not for the dead anyway – no, pain was the privilege of survivors; years of friendship with Sam taught you that.

Five seconds passed and your brain was fried.

Not because of electricity coursing through your body, setting aflame everything in its path, no; it was because of the revelation that the only thing burning was your muscles as you had them all flexed to their limit in anticipation of agony.

Agony, which was for some reason still not coming. The discharge was never delivered and with your heart beating with nearly enough force to break your ribcage, your eyes fluttered open with a gasp, swimming in tears.

You tried to focus your blurry vision on the machine that must have circuited somehow, you saw the shadow of the man moving… but when your vision cleared, you saw that everything was still on. The lights didn’t even flicker. The needle of the polygraph continued its steady path.

But—but- how-

Blinking some more, you barely heard your kidnapper praise the result.

Steve- he-- how did he--- he couldn’t possibly- how had he lied to the machine?

Your eyes found his face, his brows furrowed in concern and… guilt? What-

He was fast to avoid your gaze, resignation settling in his features, muscles no longer tensed; as much as he could control them anyway. Only his jaw twitched again, but he refused to look up at you.

Realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

An incredible, _unbelievable_ revelation.

Could he… could he have been telling the truth? Was it-- was it even possible that he might… _love you?_ But-

An incredulous delighted chuckle nearly escaped your lips, but was quickly dissolved when your captor appeared in front of you, smiling brightly, finger on the remote.

“And you… do you love this man? Truly?”

You faced the ceiling as you blinked your tears away, your whole body hurting and yet basking in relief, pleasant sensation seeping into your bones through your skin like the first warm sunrays in the spring.

You’d surely make it out now, alive. The torment would haunt you, yes, but the result… if Steve accepted your answer, this might in fact be a start of something beautiful.

“Steve?” you whispered breathlessly, searching to meet his gaze, because he deserved as much, such a brave, _brave_ man, heart on his sleeve, always doing the right thing.

He risked your rejection – as long as it meant you would live. It might seem like a natural and logical choice, but you had met people who would have most likely chosen the other option. Your ex was one, for god’s sake.

Of course, Steve wouldn’t.

“Steve, look at me, _please.”_

He stubbornly kept staring at the floor, his hand curling up in a loose fist. You sighed. The machine’s reassurance would have to suffice then; still, your heart sang.

Just as you parted your lips to give your answer, a deafening bang on your right forced you to duck as much as possible while strapped to the chair.

A shock wave of an explosion knocked your chair over, and you were falling-- the pain you had awaited ever since Steve said yes finally coming when your head hit the floor and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, anyone?
> 
> I could have had the ‘reader’ confess instead of Steve, but I find this much more fun to write ;) I wanted to try a different dynamic… admit it, you thought it was going to be the other way around :P or did you? Talk to me, please, if you're willing :-*


	7. The Break-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title sums it up the best. Steve messed up. Enter Sam Wilson and the door to Steve’s office: a saga… and Sam being the best bro.

For the second time in a week, Sam Wilson was on the mission to break Steve Rogers’ face; or, at least, to _bruise_ it.

Then again, the supersoldier serum’s ability to regenerate cells was about as big as Sam’s irritation, so he might as well try the former anyway.

He had specifically told Steve _not_ to do _that_ and there he was, that _motherfu_ \- leaving his best girl-friend in tears; momentarily, his only best friend, because _goddammit STEVE!_

Steve Rogers just had to go and fuck up the thing that was bound to be fucked up – on a whole new scale, no less.

Sam burst into Steve’s office with zero regard to the poor door, an angry snarl on his lips.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you, man?!” Sam raved, hands balled in fists, ready, halfway raised by his sides.

 _“Listed alphabetically or chronologically?”_ Steve muttered under his breath and sighed at the sight of his fuming friend, not bothering to stand up from his position in the chair. “What is it, Sam?”

 _‘What is it?’_ Sam’s brain mimicked in mockery and anger. _WHAT IS IT?!_

Was he serious or was he only pretending to be so dumb?!

“She’s awake for _two_ days now-”

“I know,” Steve stated calmly, a stark contrast to Sam’s boiling rage. It only irked the pararescue more, especially since he could tell there was a barely visible wall built up in Steve’s mind, his true emotions locked in and the key to them thrown away. “Is she not healing properly? Is there something wrong?”

“Hell yeah it is! Its name is Steve Rogers,” Sam spitted out venomously.

To his great annoyance, he could feel himself slip into a therapist mode when Steve sighed and lowered his gaze shamefully; the shift in Sam’s attitude was only minute, yet essential. A change great _just enough_ not to punch Steve yet. Momentarily, Sam hated that part of himself, because the need to approach Steve carefully and to get him open up was in a merciless battle with the instinct to protect his other friend hence socking Steve in his jaw. The inner turmoil only fed Sam’s irritation.

“She’ll be fine! That’s not what I’m worried about, dammit! She’s confused and fucking _sad_. Apparently, a guy told her he loved her – a forced confession, but whatever – and then never showed up to say hi even.”

Sam’s words were only met with silence; partly guilt-driven, partly stunned, partly because Steve probably had no clue what to say to his defence.

The image of one of the best women Sam had ever met, glassy eyes and short breaths as she had clearly been swallowing up the sobs of sorrow and confusion with a lovely mixture of brewing PTSD popped up in Sam’s head and as if he snapped his fingers, his anger was back. He himself had been a picture of misery, when she had told him about everything that happened.

She had told him _everything,_ because she believed he would have a better insight into Steve’s baffling behaviour, a better idea of whether he had lied when he had admitted that he loved her.

Sam had refused to give her a satisfying answer, mostly because he wanted to give Steve a black eye for ghosting her like a coward. He had simply claimed that it was not his place to say and that Steve had been busy these days; which he was. She didn’t need to know what he was busy with.

“I was there,” Steve remarked shyly, at least having the decency to sound as if he was aware that he was being an idiot.

_Good._

Well, not _good,_ but a good _start_ , something Sam could possibly work with.

Still, he couldn’t but roll his eyes at the poor argument made.

“Yeah, when she was _asleep_ ,” Sam fired back, crossing his arms on his chest. “That doesn’t really count. Not even when you fall asleep in that chair, waiting for her to wake up. You need to actually talk to her, Steve.”

“About what?”

Sam honestly couldn’t _believe_ this guy. He could sense the irritation rising in the other man as well; his frustration with Sam’s inability to let this go.

Sam hoped it was frustration with his own actions too.

“About how you _feel,_ you dumbass!” Sam spitted out, unhooking his arms in favour of throwing his hands up. “Hell, about _anything,_ just go and stop ignoring her!”

Steve jolted to his feet so quickly he actually managed to startle Sam, enough to make his instincts to kick in-- and die as fast as when Steve leaned onto the table, not throwing punches.

“What’s your problem, Sam?! First you don’t want me near her and now you’re basically forcing me on her? Make up your goddamn mind!” Steve sputtered.

“Oh, _please!_ Like my mind would ever stop you from doing anything! You promised me _not_ to break her heart!”

Which was _exactly_ what Steve was doing at the moment. Breaking her heart, leaving her doubting despite having confessed his feelings to a fucking _polygraph;_ breaking her heart, because, for whatever reason, the blond dumbass was refusing to go see her or even contact her anyhow.

Sam’s heart was beating wildly in his chest as his brows knitted together when examining the other soldier.

Damn, he should have expected this outburst of his, he _knew_ Steve was bottling things up and he could be a small (fucking big) ball of rage. Just like Sam guessed the reasoning behind Steve’s dumbassery and found it… partly justified, but stupid.

When his— _friend_ looked away and visibly gulped, standing straight again except his hunched shoulders, Sam had his theory confirmed.

Sam had really been hoping this could have been solved by a fist-fight, he was, in fact, _itching for it._ It seemed that talking would have to do.

Thought he wouldn’t dismiss the punching just yet.

Sam sighed, eyeing the other man. “You already said yes, Steve. Why are you sitting on your ass here instead of letting her admit her feelings to you too and have your happily ever after?”

The supersoldier shook his head inconspicuously and slowly seated himself back into the safety of his leather chair.

“I can’t, Sam. I--I just can’t,“ he whispered hoarsely, opening the door to his heart an inch, enough for Sam to unwillingly and yet very much eagerly slip his fingers in and take a look.

He dropped to the opposite chair, knowing that the table was what Steve needed between them; a barrier.

For some people, it would be one of the things discouraging them from talking, denying them the feeling of connection with the therapist. For Steve Rogers, who kept the matters of heart close to his chest unless it was something which was pissing him off, it was the only thing that actually _got him talking._

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?” Sam sighed, already piecing an image in his head.

Silence was the only answer he got, heaviness falling on the pair of soldiers. Sam waited. He knew Steve needed to talk to someone about it, but he needed to start on his own, rather than answering specific questions.

Adding another barrier to protect himself, Steve rested his forearms at the edge of the table, fingers interlaced, fingers visibly tensing and relaxing several times as he fought to shape his thoughts and emotions. His gaze was fixated on his hands, absent.

When he finally spoke up, his voice was quiet, barely a whisper with a rough edge to it.

“The moment I saw her strapped to that chair—it’s… there are no words for it. And I couldn’t do a thing about it and it was just--- you weren’t there, Sam. I know that-“ Steve gulped nervously, his voice breath hitching. “I know you read the report. You saw her after, but—you weren’t there. Not when I lied and she got— she got-”

It was Sam’s turn to swallow nothing, the image of his friend being fucking _tortured_ engraved in his mind vivid, his brain supplying him with what he had learned about her and what he had seen happening to other people.

His stomach clenched painfully, his jaw set tight. Yet, he let Steve speak, let him get it out of his chest, because he doubted that Steve told this to anyone. He had written a report, yes, Sam had read it, _yes,_ but seeing it… yeah, Sam had an idea of what a toll it had had to take on Steve.

The blond’s eyes slid shut as he released a shaky breath. “I honestly thought he was going to _kill_ her. I never—the way she screamed, Sam, I- I’ll never be able to unhear that.”

Sam felt his fist clench and unclench on their own account, an involuntary reaction to the imaginary punch to his gut. He had imagined tears-- and now her screams echoed in his ears, a picture vivid despite not having any memory of it.

“Yeah, I fucking bet,” he retorted as his own reaction to the horror image took over, visceral, nausea tickled his stomach unpleasantly. “What’s your point?”

“You were right. I think I could have stopped Tony and Natasha if I really wanted – but the opportunity was just too tempting. And I fucked up. Big time.”

Swallowing his anger and ignoring the chill that was still running up and down his spine, Sam focused on the other man, recalling precisely when and how he had fed Steve’s guilt; misplaced at least partly.

“Steve, man, look-“

He did. Steve raised his haunted eyes to Sam, mad guilt pooling in them along with reflection of tears not spilled.

How could Sam _not_ soften at that, how could he _not_ let the need to comfort Steve win? More so when he continued, every word strangled as if he had trouble to even push it through the lump in his throat, yet they kept spilling, rapid fire of randomly voiced thoughts.

“I _did that_ to her. Maybe not directly, but she was in that chair because of me. She was- she was in _so much pain_ because of me. Because I couldn’t protect her, because I let myself- I let myself believe that we could be together, fake or for real, Avengers or not, but that’s not how this works. I can’t be with her, Sam. I can’t do that to her. She doesn’t deserve-“

“-an ounce of love?” Sam interrupted his guilt-trip. “A guy who loves her and wants to protect her so bad that he’s beating himself over something that wasn’t quite in his control? I know what I said, man, but… shit, I was pissed. I didn’t mean it, not really.”

“Sam-“

Sam stopped him before he could continue torturing himself; it was his own time to confess.

“Steve, you’re the first guy I ever considered to be good enough for her. And I don’t give my approval easily, trust me.”

Steve averted his gaze at that, eyeing his desk as he shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter. You said it yourself; your opinion might mean a lot to me, but I made up my mind…. I’m staying away. I already talked to Fury about future missions, looks like they need someone for a long-term undercover in Alaska.”

Blood froze in Sam’s veins, his brain short-circuiting.

His friend was going to do _what?_

“You wanna run that by me again?”

Steve shrugged, clearly aiming for a casual tone and missing epically.

“Apparently I’d make a great lumberjack. Let me grow a beard, dress me in flannel and I guarantee you no one will recognize me. Fury’s words, not mine. I think he has a point.”

Sam stayed silent for a few moments, his mind racing a mile a minute. This was even wrse than he had thought.

Not only Steve was hiding; he was about to silently disappear, without even a word goodbye, he suspected.

Sam didn’t know whether he should yell in frustration, punch the other man or bang his head against a wall.

He settled for trying to reason with Steve, a bold move considering how impulsive the man could be.

“I didn’t take you for a coward, Steve. I didn’t take you for the guy who walks away when faced with a problem.”

“I’m not,” Steve replied simply, tilting his head but not meeting Sam’s eye. “This isn’t it. I’m _not._ It’s for the best.”

 _“Please._ Not even you believe that.”

Steve had nothing to say to that; probably because Sam was right and Steve was bullshitting both of them. Sam leaned onto the backrest of his chair, narrowing his eyes as he wandered just how to find a way out of this, how to convince his friend to stay, how to… how to approach that whole mess.

_See? That’s what happens when you agree to fake date to catch a serial killer. That is, unless you actually die in the process._

“I think you’re afraid,” Sam started in the end, fighting a smirk when Steve blinked, clearly not expecting to hear that, not expecting Sam to read him so well. And Sam was pretty confident that he was right, _okay._ “I think that you’re afraid that you might fall for her further. That as much as you were already willing to die for her before, that little time you had together made you willing to _live_ for her and that’s much scarier, because living is harder.”

He let his mind wander, sharing every thought as they ran by; and Steve didn’t dare to speak, his gaze falling back to the desk.

“I think that down there in that freaky dungeon, you had her life in your hands and that freaked the shit out of you-- which, not that I can blame you. I think that you’re scared that at the same time, she had your life in her hands as well, not aware how much of it she had, how much she meant to you. And now she knows-- well, she _hopes_ , her belief is pretty shaken since you’ve been ghosting her.”

Steve had the decency to look up and appear guilty when Sam gave him a firm glare, still having nothing to say to defend himself; it seemed Sam truly was on the right track. Good. Now he could make his point.

“I think that you’re afraid of the power she holds over you and it doesn’t matter how many times I tell you she loves you too, because I think you figured that much already. This isn’t about you worrying about her returning your feelings, is it? You’re just scared that she has you in her pocket and that’s perfectly normal. But, Steve… I think we both know that there is not one person you’ve ever met that you can trust to use that power as wisely as she would.” He barely covered the smirk on his face at the final blow he was about to deliver. “That is, if you weren’t a chicken and paid her a visit before one of the doctors flirting with her realizes that the whole relationship was a cover and their path is in fact clear.”

“What doctors?” Steve asked distractedly, his head snapping up, Sam’s words working like a charm.

Yeah, Sam could _not_ believe this man. The audacity of him. The ignorance.

He still loved him, okay, he was like a brother at this point, but _goddammit Steven!_

“Is _that_ what you took from my whole speech?” Sam mocked offence, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“What. Doctors?”

Sam shrugged lightheartedly, pretending not to be bothered by a single thing in the world.

“Pretty much every single one of them. You know how she is, way too nice to everyone, giving them the wrong impression… but honestly, Laufeys is-“

Sam never got to finish his sentence. Steve got to his feet with a huff, striding from the office with determined steps, now having a mission on his own.

Sam’s mission was hopefully done here; and he hadn’t even had to lie much.

Laufeys was a guy who flirted with everything that moved. He also _slept_ with everything that moved and was willing to submit, which was nearly everyone, because that guy had a silver tongue that got him just about everywhere; most of all, it got his _dick_ everywhere.

He hadn’t dared to flirt with Captain’s fiancé though; not that Steve needed to know that. A slow victorious smirk spread on the Sam’s face.

He was still in the office, satisfied with himself and praying for the best, when Tony Stark spoke from the ceiling.

“Nice move, Birdbrain. Nice move.”

Just hearing the cocky voice of the billionaire dragged Sam’s mood down. He eyed the speakers, irked.

“Fuck you, Stark, I don’t want to hear your voice,” he snarled, heat boiling in his chest. “I’m still pissed as hell that you sent those reporters to take a picture of them in the first place, hell, that you hired a guy and got her burned. And forced them into that mess. I figured that since the damage is already done, I might fix some of it a least.”

There was a meaningful pause following Sam’s outburst.

“From the two of them, she was the first to say yes, Samuel, just saying. They were dancing around each other for way too long. Now they won’t and we caught a bad guy. Win-win.”

“Except that she’s still in the _med bay_ , Canman,” Sam hissed, ignoring the pang in his chest at that. They thought she was going to be alright, no lasting damage to her heart or brain, but _still._ Seeing her in the hospital bed was awful, yet nothing compared to the sight he had been offered when they had all come to the rescue. “Get out of my sight before I give you a matching black eye…”

Sam Wilson was not proud of giving Tony Stark a black eye. He had wanted to give him a broken nose, broken jaw and maybe some more, but the stupid Ironman suits prevented it, so only one black eye it was.

“Mr.Stark wishes to inform you he wasn’t in your sight, only in your hearing range,” the AI spoke this time and Sam rubbed his eyes, suddenly bone-tired.

He rubbed a hand down his face then and sighed. “Funhouse. I live in a fucking funhouse…”

And he did indeed. The residents were all kinds of crazy, there was a huge-ass ‘A’ on the top of the building—a building which was a _Tower_ for god’s sake and everything was ran by an AI--

Sam was not proud of his next words either, but if Tony Stark was being a privacy-invading bastard, so could Sam.

For a bit.

“Friday? Let me know when Cap spills the beans and how it goes, okay?” he called out lowly, instantly receiving a response.

“As you wish, Mr. Wilson.“


	8. The Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ve been moping for two days now; despite some surprising visitors in your hospital room, there was one person who haven’t made it yet. It’s just your dumb luck it was the one person that mattered very much.

The first thing your foggy brain registered as you woke up was that you must have a flu. There was no other explanation for how you felt.

Every single muscle, every single joint in your body, simply _everything_ hurt and was so, so heavy… confusing images flickered through your mind, images of a dark room and the burning blue of irises, the pain and the poor attempt at a smile, the ring and leather straps, the maniacal grin on the vendor’s face—it was all adding to the splitting headache that was keeping you from opening your eyes; because no, _no sharp light, thank you very much-_

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” a velvety voice caressed your ears, gentle fingers lightly squeezing your hand. “You had us worried.”

Mind still fuzzy, you groaned, attempting to squeeze the warm hand back, but with zero result.

God, why is it so, _so hard_ to move--

“I’ll call a doctor, yeah?”

Grunting something incomprehensible in disagreement, because _fuck it, I just want to sleep,_ you drifted back into blissful ignorance, not having a care for the world.

When you woke up again, it was to Sam’s concerned gaze and you did _not_ like that expression on his face one bit.

To your utter shock, he was soon replaced by Tony Stark; though Sam still stayed in your corner while the billionaire gushed about how you had led them right to the bad guy.

“He was crazy, alright. His brain was a like bag of cats and that coming from me? Real deal. Anyway… we couldn’t save anyone else. He was… eh, _systematic_. Putting trackers into the rings, stalking the couples and then he moved onto his mission of testing the true love bullshit and everyone failed, so he had the shocks to-“

Sam cleared his throat meaningfully as you winced, the ghost of the _very unpleasant_ sensation running through your nerve endings, biting chill curling at the base of your spine, flashes of Steve’s face, the mask, the vendor, the chairs and the electricity crackling-

“Sorry. Just wanted to say… you did really great. You saved a lot of lives by helping us to lock him away. You basically entered the hero kindergarten,” Stark announced almost brightly, earning another _ahem_ from your friend.

You smiled at the genius tiredly. “I’m not planning on joining your superhero group, Mr-“ you faltered when he made a face, _“-Tony._ And… I’d feel better if we could have—if the people who were taken-“

“Hey. Not your fault,” Sam interrupted you swiftly, voice as serious as his face. “You did amazing and I hope you’re never getting into this kind of shit ever again.”

Now he looked like a father torn between being proud of his kid punching a bully to their face and being exasperated because the said kid had earned an exclusion from school for it. To be fair, he possibly felt exactly like that.

“Yeaaaah, I guess that’s my cue,” Tony backed out with an awkward grin, stopping in the doorway to toss few more words over his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry for the delay. The deactivated trackers took us a while. Get better, hon!”

You couldn’t but grin at his demeanor, but your mood instantly shifted back to grim when you saw the look on Sam’s face. The air of an overexcited genius which Stark was carrying around was sucked out of the room, suddenly making it hard for you to breathe as the horror images filled your mind once more.

You shook your head and gulped, trying to push them back to the corner, focusing on something else entirely; namely on the black eye which Tony was nursing, one of which had a good idea how happened.

“You gave him the black eye, didn’t you?”

Sam’s furrowed brows rose at the probably unexpected remark, but he didn’t bother lying. “Damn right, I did.”

───── ⋆⋅♥⋅⋆ ─────

Who would have guessed that two days, only 48 hours, could last an eternity?

You would.

You knew; you had your fair share of experiencing that. Still, every hour crushed your chest as Tony Stark visited once more, Sam was at your bedside at nearly all times, Irma came to see you, hell, even Natasha _freaking_ Romanoff stopped by and yet, _yet,_ no Steve in sight.

Sam had told you he was busy; you could imagine. He must have probably been filling out mission reports, recovering himself, had to answer to authorities, to reporters-- and your eyes filled with stupid and pathetic tears when you thought of the reporters every single time.

Recalling your own encounter with the sensation-hungry sharks, the intrusive memory of the interview wormed its way to your brain and more importantly, to your heart; a memory of the time when everything had seemed alright, _better_ even, almost as if there could be something more —and then Steve had said _yes_ \--- and then-

Then all you had was a hazy memory of his voice at your ear when you had been pulled out of unconsciousness, a wistful dream, a fata-morgana which you made up to console your mind when your body couldn’t quite comprehend the exhaustion and pain tearing you from your sleep only to slip back again.

He hadn’t come.

For two full days, he wouldn’t as much as shoot you a text, send flowers or something awfully sweet and Steve-like and you were starting to question just how much of what had happened down there you only imagined.

You were almost certain he had said he loved you, you would swear on it even; but if it truly happened and Steve was _still_ not showing up, well… then it opened a whole new number of possibilities of what his motivation could be.

You refused to believe he didn’t care at all. However, you had met Steve a while ago and if you understood something about him, it was that his sense of duty was just a tiny bit inferior to his sense of loyalty. In other words, he would look out for his friends, as much as they would look out for him – more even.

So, even when Steve was supposedly _busy_ – unless he was out of the country, naturally – he would let himself to be dragged out of the gym, out of his office, dragged away from anything that seemed urgent, yet not urgent enough for him to refuse Sam or anyone else who was concerned and insistent enough.

Hence you coming to the conclusion that he simply didn’t _want to_ spent a single second in your presence, because he had in fact figured out that you had been about to confess your feelings to him and now he was doing everything to avoid you, because he had somehow tricked the machine when saying that stupid ‘yes’ and he had no clue how to turn you down gently now-- because Steve was nothing short of gentle.

Yep, that was your elaborate theory.

 _Say yay for your super-inventive brain,_ you thought darkly. _And try not to choke at the thought of Steve ghosting you for the rest of your life._

Burying your face in the pillow and letting it soak up with your tears, you lulled yourself to sleep, grateful there was no one in your room at the moment to witness your break-down.

You were woken up from your slumber by three swift knocks on your door. It snapped you to full consciousness at instant, mostly because there weren’t many people who bothered to knock; it was quite common for them – and that included the doctors – to simply enter.

That difference in approach was essential, because your mind traitorously drifted towards the idea of Steve finally paying you a visit and it was both exciting and mortifying.

Also, it gave you hope of which you were certain would be crashed the moment the door open, so there was that.

The knocks echoed in the room once more, this time softer, as if the person behind the door worried about intruding your sleep.

Huh. Cute _and_ considerate. How could you not get your hopes up at that?

“Uhm… come in,” you encouraged the mystery person cautiously, your heart nearly giving out when a blond head hesitantly poked in.

_Yep, it’s Steve._

_Or maybe I’m just high and I’m imagining him._

_Hard to tell._

He offered you the weakest of smiles as if he could hear your thoughts and whispered a very shy ‘hi’.

You felt your heartbeat pounding in your temples in panic and excitement.

“Steve… uhm. H-hey. What-eh- what are you doing here?”

You would have been ashamed for stuttering like an idiot, except you were too busy freaking out over looking like a hobo, having red-rimmed eyes and chest filled with dread at this encounter, feelings spoken and unspoken sitting heavily in your ribcage—and well, generally just losing your mind.

Also, Steve was unable to speak like a normal person as well, so that helped. “I-uhm… came to check up on you.”

He stepped fully into the doorway and you expected him to come all the way in. Instead, he wavered there, not quite entering and it only caused your chest to tighten. You swallowed against the lump in your throat, trying your best to seem collected and not like desperately looking for a clue, anything to give away a single of his thoughts.

Was he hesitating because he wasn’t sure if he was welcomed after ghosting you or was it because he wanted to have an escape route open? He was a strategist, after all; it would be wise to have a chance at escaping the moment he sensed the situation going off rails.

A somewhat torn expression crossed over his face, followed by an expectant one, and you realized he must have been waiting for you to lead.

Again.

Ever the gentleman.

You would have appreciated it and possibly melt into a puddle of sappy goo, because Steve was a sweetheart always… except you hadn’t a clue _what_ you wanted and _where_ you wanted this to lead—well, you _did_ know, but you doubted that would happen.

Your heart ached, a reminder of his confession possibly not being sincere and you being left on your own in your pining.

Shaking your head to free yourself from the cage of your own mind, you attempted a small smile, one that probably came off as super-awkward.

But he needed to cut you some slack, alright.

“Oh. I’m fine,” you finally said, answering the question not quite asked. “I mean… my head spins a little-“ _And you’re not helping._ “-but mostly I’m here because Tony Stark is being an overbearing ass. I don’t think he would admit that, but he probably feels guilty.”

It was another conclusion your brilliant mind had come to. You know, apart from the fact Steve was ghosting you because he was waking up in cold sweat dreaming about you being interested in him and all that.

But _why_ were you telling him about Tony? Were you really that desperate to see him for a bit longer that you babbled? So desperately trying to postpone the inevitable conversation for later, because once it happened… God only knew what the outcome would be?

Your ears might have been playing tricks on you, but you would swear you heard him murmur ‘I know how that feels’ under his breath.

Hm.

“Good,” he stated, nodding his head as if he needed to assure himself that it _was_ indeed good. “Uhm… it’s good that you’re almost fine.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He was still standing in the doorway and your eyes started burning with unshed tears.

Small talk. Awkwardness. Things unsaid, hanging in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Was this how it was going to be between the two of you now?

 _And what else did you expect it would be like after you pretended to be a couple? After you kissed? And got tortured together, just in the case you forgot about_ that?

“What about you?” you forced yourself to ask, willing your voice not to crack. “How you’ve been?”

“Huh? Oh, uhm. Good. Yeah, good. Busy.”

“Right. I-- uhm… I bet-“

“No, actually… that’s a lie.”

You blinked, utterly taken aback at the blatant admission. It was so unlike Steve to be this _cruelly_ honest that you barely registered that his words felt like a punch to your face.

Not that you had ever been punched to your face. Only nearly electrocuted. Which you guessed wasn’t any better.

“Oh.”

Steve shook his head, chuckling bitterly, still not moving from the fucking doorway and you wished you were in his place, so you could just _flee._

“I spent half of the time staring at a wall in my office.”

“Oh… uhm.” And like an idiot, because you _were_ one and you had no clue how to react besides bursting into tears, because he hadn’t come to _see you_ and had been _staring at a wall_ instead, you said: “I mean… I guess Stark Tower has some pretty interesting walls.”

This time when he chuckled, the sound was just as breathless, but lighter. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and gestured towards the chair by your bed.

“May I?”

_No. Nope. You let him in here and the more you look at him and do small talk, the more you’ll want to cry. Tell him no-_

“Sure.”

_Idiot._

Closing the door and finding his seat, he spoke again.

“Thank you. I… I should have visited. But… I spent hours and hours wondering how to apologize, and I know that it isn’t the best excuse, but I- you--“

You tried to blink away your tears, grateful for Steve staring at the bedsheets and not watching your face when talking. That would be pretty humiliating if he saw your awe-struck, humiliated and entirely confused face; this already was enough.

Apologize? For what? For lying and getting away with it? For telling the truth and then ignoring you? For pretending to care? For caring and suddenly not caring enough? Or for what?

What, what, _what_ \- 

“-what happened in that basement-“ he continued and the tone he spoke with was already too much to bear— you knew at instant that you _didn’t want_ the answers to your questions.

Not if it meant that you‘d have your heart broken, a wedge driven into the already wide enough raw crack in it.

“Steve-“

“I got you hurt. And I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, leaning his elbows onto his thighs, fingers interlacing as his hands hang loosely between his knees. Wait, _what?_ “I am so, _so sorry._ That never should have happened-“

Your heart skipped a pleased and relieved beat.

You shouldn’t be getting your hopes up just yet – this wasn’t about what you thought it was, he wasn’t telling you he hadn’t been lying down there, _but_ this possibility hadn’t even crossed your mind. It should have, it made perfect sense that he was feeling guilty, because he was the captain of the team, responsible for them—

You were so wrapped up in your own head, clinging to the fact he admitted he _loved you_ (or not, who the fuck knew), that you hadn’t even considered this.

The revelation explained _so much_ and sounded much more like him than you could imagine and your mind started racing with new possibilities. Maybe… maybe he didn’t—or did he- this was far from him denying that he never wanted to talk to you again and had literally nothing to do with your little truth-or-lie issue, yet you felt an enormous weight fell from your shoulders, a blanket of lead that had been lying on your chest for a while now lift.

You wiggled up so you could sit straighter in the bed.

“Steve, that guy was _insane_. He drugged you with god knows what, he had you-- wired to something-“

“We shouldn’t have been there in the first place.“

Oh. _Oh._

You gulped, your head pounding all over again, ribcage constricting.

Yeah. You supposed _that_ was true. It didn’t mean that it hurt less; no, hearing him to say it out loud hurt more, actually, however, you tried your best to focus on the problem at hand, which was giving Steve whatever forgiveness he craved, no matter it wasn’t his fault in the first place.

“Well. I was the first to agree, if I remember correctly and you were radically against. So if anything, _I_ kinda got us into that mess, so-…”

His cerulean eyes bored into yours, sorrow, self-torment and stubbornness incarnated, as he interrupted you.

“Maybe, but I agreed then and I _promised_ to protect you. You _trusted me_ and I failed you,” he accented, anger lacing his voice. He sighed then when he took a note of that and slowly breathed in and out, sounding much softer when he spoke again. “I’m sorry.”

It was as if you hadn’t said a word in the past minute.

“Steve, you’re… you’re just human. Serum or not, you’re- hell, even superman had his kryptonite and he’s fictional. You’re just— what--what he did to me--- after which I’ll be alright, by the way – that happening doesn’t make you any less of a hero,” you explained sincerely, minutely forgetting your weeping uncertain heart. “I know that you did everything you could. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

The implication that there was something else he _should_ apologize for hang heavy in the air.

“I… about what I said down there-“

“Steve, don’t. You don’t need to explain anything. Whatever happened, however you managed to do that-“

“You think I lied,” he stated dully and you avoided his gaze at that.

You didn’t respond.

If you were being honest, you weren’t sure _what_ to think anymore. Everything was just so damn confusing; his yes, his apology, his sorrow, him avoiding you… it was making you dizzy and it all the wondering had you honestly exhausted.

“I’m a coward.”

 _That_ got you snap your head back to him, hundreds of question marks in your eyes. “What?”

A humorless chuckle was the answer.

“I didn’t lie. I mean, I did lie down there once, and the machine caught that. And I got you hurt-“

You wanted to protest, because you’d been over this, but his previous words rang in your ears, confusing and disgustingly hopeful.

He hesitantly reached for your hand, gingerly taking it between both of his own, thumbs tenderly caressing its back. You swallowed the choked noise threatening to escape your throat at the soft touch; deliberate, yet seemingly not uncomfortable to him.

“I was forced to admit how I felt right after I got you hurt and I had _no single clue_ what to do with that. Still don’t. I-I spend hours just sitting here and staring, trying to figure out-“

You successfully – ha, you wished – tuned out the first part, focusing on the latter one, not any less surprising.

“You’ve been here?”

He seemed distracted by that question. “Yeah, uhm-“

“Were… were you here when I woke up?” you asked, another foggy memory flickering in front of your eyes, a memory of him in the chair, the concerned frown on his face, dark circles under his dry eyes, raspy voice-

“You… you remember that? You weren’t even conscious for a full minute. You were out again before the doctor arrived, both times.”

 _‘Both times.’_ He had witnessed you conscious _twice._

Just how long had he spent here by your sleeping form?

“I thought-“ _I though that I dreamed that up._ Apparently, you hadn’t. He… he had been there with you. _Oh_. “I—so you- oh.”

He waited patiently before all of his words registered in your brain; including the ones about-

“You… weren’t lying?” you asked breathlessly, astonished and warmed from inside out for the second time in the past few days as the realization took roots in your brain, finding the remnants of your previous belief and euphoria.

“No. Not when I- when I said-”

 _“-yes,”_ you finished for him, your lips parting in amazement, your heart fluttering in joy.

There was no need to specify which question you were talking about – it was clear as day; about the only one that truly mattered.

“And I’m an idiot. I hurt you again, letting you think that I didn’t care at all and I should have come here, but I had no idea what to do next and if you-- what did you think about it- and I got you hurt-“

“We’ve been over this. _Not_ your fault,” you chastised his distractedly, staring at his face because he was breathtaking and he… he-

His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously and you couldn’t but give him the reassurance he was no doubt seeking; you knew _you_ would in his place.

“I… I was about to say yes. And it wouldn’t have been a lie either,” you offered quietly, a slow smile spreading on your lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He gave you a watery smile, tears still crinkling in the corners of his eyes as he carefully raised your hand, watching every micro-expression on your face, searching for the tinniest trace of disapproval; finding none, his lips brushed your knuckles with the gentlest kiss.

You melted into the pillow, feeling warm all over, your smile turning goofy as you finally, _finally_ got your answer and wanted to scream it at the top of your lungs, because it was _delightful._

Steve loved you.

_Steve loves me._

And you loved him.

There was a mess for you to deal with for sure, a lot of explaining ahead, but… what else than the fact that you loved each other was important here?

Nothing. Not really, not at the moment at least.

Something told you this might be the true start of a beautiful relationship.

The non-faked kind.

\--and you hunch turned out to be true.

The next day, the very hour of your discharge from the med-wing, Steve was waiting for you; all ready with a car to drive you home, a bouquet of cream-colored tulips in his hand to make your day downright wonderful and for some reason, also with daggers in his glare whenever he sized up the nice doctor who had been keeping you company until Steve arrived.

It earned Steve a kiss on his cheek as he led you to the car with his palm lightly resting on your lower back and if your lips brushed his before you got in, well, no one needed to know.

───── ⋆⋅♥⋅⋆ ─────

“Mr. Wilson, you wished me to tell you when the confessions would be made. They were just now.”

Sam glanced up from the screen and stopped scrolling mindlessly through his phone, letting out a long exhale.

Judging by the not-so-ominous tone of the AI – nope, he would never get over the fact that an artificial intelligence could speak in different ways and be sassy on top of everything – the talk didn’t end up tragically. At least Sam hoped; he didn’t think there had been much space for messing it up _worse,_ to be honest.

“Thanks, Friday. It was about damn time. How did it go?”

A record of the infamous interview, showing his two friends making out on live TV lighted up his phone—fucking _rude_ to hack his phone like this, especially showing him _that_.

“About like this, Mr. Wilson,” Friday explained nonchalantly as if that fucking thing wasn’t in control of _his phone_.

Sam breathed through the shock caused by the intrusive AI, focusing on the good news before planning on giving Stark another black eye because _what the hell,_ SOME privacy left would be nice and very much appreciated _-_

“Didn’t exactly need the visual,” he muttered, adding a louder ’but thanks.’

His screen returned to normal and he found himself too tired to get up and find Stark right now; he could always throw it to his face later.

Speaking of planning on throwing words and things at someone's faces…

Sam realized he had to stand up anyway, because he had a different job to do, now that the two idiot friends of his finally made it past the mutual pining phase and actually got together.

Shoving his phone to the pocket of his jeans, he went to polish his guns; just in case that the big blond _dumbass_ planned on making Sam’s favorite almost-sister cry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and leaving kudos You're all amazing :-* 
> 
> Special thanks for commenting, it is greatly appreciated ♥

**Author's Note:**

>  _'I solemnly swear I’ll work on the fic I’ve been promising to finish for ages.'_  
>  Eh, failed again.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
